That unmentionable habit of yours. That wild inclination. That crazy dream of how your life could be. Your genius in that one strange eccentricity you’d like to play in forever.
You could run through those bars in the picture, and dive head-first into a new life; your life. A new world where what matters most to you matters most there.
But the bars . . . they wouldn’t appreciate your leaving. They’ve cobbled together a temporary shelter for you long ago that you decided was good enough to live in.
And within those boundaries you have remained, to enjoy some make-believe security of your creation.
Bars of imagination? Security of imagination? Boundaries of imagination.
Self-imposed, hardened steel bars; imagined . . .
that you obey, year after year.
Please. Let your genius loose, irreverently! Nurture it. Be it.
You have no time for containment.