Invisible Cardboard
“Let us again, ‘think outside of the box’.” These words greet me even before the rising sun, sent through wires and cables and the very air itself from an old friend now far, far away. A new leader sits in an oval office. A new “moral order is starting to make its way back into our perceptions”. “Can you feel things changing?” the writer asks.
Yes, I can.
“Let us again, ‘think outside of the box’ and plan viable strategies to make our President’s ambitious economic stimulus plan work in ways that will insure a lasting recovery for our County and our nation.” The tiny black marks on the stark white background bounce off the surface of my eye, pixels pounding at the gates of my consciousness, photons crashing through to have their way with my sleep-addled self. The words sink in and I sink with them. The “outside of the box” looks exactly like the inside, from what I can see.
The writer, having tunneled from her cell, having dug her way to the surface, has made it only to the prison exercise yard. But in the darkness and confusion, it looks to her like she has made it past the razor wire and into the free land beyond. Having been born in prison, having lived her whole life there, she can see neither the bars nor the walls that contain her. The box is, and has always been, her whole world. It has become invisible to her. She cannot see beyond it.
Economic recovery is not “outside of the box”. At least not “economy” as we now understand the word. It’s a healthy, functioning economy that keeps us imprisoned. And it’s a healthy, functioning economy that is killing the life of this place.
What we’re looking for we can now hardly imagine, most of us. Perhaps we’ll have better luck seeing outside of the box if we start with learning to see the box itself. It’s right here. It’s not hiding. And we have eyes.
So she’ll have to go back down into her tunnel and work a while longer, scraping away the dirt and debris as she scrabbles along in the dark, avoiding the guards as best she can. Deeper. Farther. Longer. Far past where she might imagine. Farther and farther still. Keep digging.
There is a place beyond the walls.
Here’s a spoon.
TTG