The Box

    Do not be fooled; you are in a box. The boxes are so cleverly disguised that you must be at least equally clever to see them or to know of their existence.

    "How can we tell that we are in the box if we cannot see it?" one might ask. Do you have to see the air and wind in order to know they are there? By noticing the effects on yourself and the world around you – you can develop a strong belief of their existence. The same can be said about bacteria and viruses; though we don't always see them, we bathe regularly and continue to wash our hands after using the restroom or before we eat because of our idea of their existence and the possible consequences if we don't.

    Don't worry, the boxes are not outside. The chance of you taking a trip out of state and being taken aback after crashing your car into the invisible box's walls is slim. I could imagine the phone call afterward, "Um, mom…I think I might have a little bit of problem." Followed by, "Yeah I know. You told me not to go because I'd hit another box… But I was going to ask if we'd put the Box Plan on our car insurance or not this year?"

The boxes are instead within our minds. They constrict our thinking which in turn restricts our movement, preventing us from reaching our full potential.

The word impossible is the admittance of short sight; it is the excuse for not even attempting to pursue or question the subject matter.

Imagine Yourself in a Box

    The loud slamming of walls jars you awake; your body temperature and pulse rise as the darkness angrily attempts to choke the life out of you. As a reflex, you blink repeatedly in hopes that your eyes will collect some light or you'll wake up from this nightmare. The smell of freshly cut wood becomes thick and overwhelming as you muster the nerve to stand to your feet. You recall a random childhood memory of someone cheering as you stand for the first time. The dragging of your feet seems deafeningly loud and echoes off of the box's walls. You gather that you are alone; there is no other sound. There is no recollection of how you got into the box, but the primal desire escape its walls is your only thought, as if you're beginning to drown and can only hope for air before it's too late.

    Your mind mulls over the last echo; it becomes clear that the walls must not be too far away. Stretching your arms in front of you, you hope to touch one. When this fails you walk cautiously not wanting to injure yourself. Slowly dragging your feet along the floor of the box, you discover that the floor is surprisingly smooth. After walking more than one hundred steps you begin to lose hope; the wall is not as close as you thought. Caution fades as every step becomes more brisk; within a minute you start running and screaming at the top of your lungs in hopes of hearing a response other than the echoes. Your legs slow down as fatigue sets in; you find it difficult to breathe as the blood in your legs seems to boil. Gasping for air with your hands on your knees you hear the echoes continue to mock you. Hopelessness sets in.

    At your moment of hopelessness a ray of light appears; both brilliant and unsettling. Though your eyes struggle to focus they are involuntarily drawn to the light, like a moth to a flame. You begin to see smaller beams dancing around – perhaps they are fireflies.

    "Have you established a foothold?" a male voice blares loudly over a radio. 'Foothold' ricochets off of the barren walls.

    "Roger. Foothold is established. We are in the box." That wasn't the radio! There is at least one other in here with you; a young man. Perhaps he can help. The original light vanishes; only the fireflies remain – you count nine of them.

    "Hello! I'm in here too," you cry out. "Are you here to rescue me?"

    A moment passes then the voice says, "We are here on official business. We do have the authority to use force and detain you if you interfere with the operation."

    What official business? What operation? Is this the National Guard or MERCENARIES? Question after question runs through your mind, like tuner cars on a speedway but you stay quiet due to uncertainty.

    One of the fireflies is directed at your face. It is a flashlight; you are momentarily blinded. They know where you are and what you look like. It's too dark for you to see their faces. What does using force mean?

    "Hey, give me a hand with this thing," you hear grunting and more echoes. One of the lights are put down one the on the floor. It shines at the feet of the other mysterious men holding the other electric lanterns. You can't tell whether there are more than just nine of them anymore. You see them struggle to push something massive, round. -to be continued…