Pacing the Cage

Pacing the Cage: The Diaries of a Weathered Soul.

I’ve seen it before.

My spirit is thirsty–thirsty for adventure. Sadly my soul doesn’t want in. It is lethargic, stagnant and comfortable beyond the tolerable norm. In a word, it’s just plain bored. It’s not only bored–it’s also boring. Just an ember of a flame. My bones cry themselves hoarse, yearning for something lasting, something good, something sweetly real. My body heroically continues to carry itself ever onward, step after visionless step, but all I hear within myself is the sickening thud of my dreams crashing around my ankles as my soul talks me, yet again, into apathy.

Every day my soul (not villainous in and of itself, but accompanied with comfort it is a poor motivator) tries to tame me, and everyday I have to fight to keep the embers alive. Unkempt, my spirit is a wildfire. It’s a three sixty degree panoramic view from the north face of Mt. Cook on a clear day. A firecracker, a firestarter, and a significantly fearsome thing to behold. In its rawest, freest state, it is boundless. But tamed, it is a Toyota-driving, routine-loving, structure-oriented, selfcentred, stagnating 9-5′er.

Dream territory is scary. Every time I think of my crazy, impossible, career-ruining dreams, my soul cowers in fear. It’s at times like these that I desperately need help. And I also can’t help remembering the greatest adventurer of all time: Aslan.

He’s not a tame lion but I sure as hell* love trying to make him one. It’s the part of me I’m constantly trying to ward off that does it. It’s so much easier to cram God in a little container to quickly and easily shove in the back pocket like some magnanimous show and tell project readily available to go on display to the reason and knowledge worshippers of this life. And when he’s not needed he can sit back there keeping company with my dreams and other scary things I don’t want to tackle right now. Back there my dreams aren’t embarrassing stories told to well-meaning people asking “So . . . what’s next?” and God isn’t nearly so freaky with his crazy Africa and impoverished orphans talk.

Yet that omnipresent still, small voice is again harping the same message that to live–to really let loose–is to embrace the dreams, scary and all. When that ambiguous voice finally cuts through my thick skull (I never could fit many hats) and I take heed, I reach into my back pocket to find him, but alas! he isn’t there! Aslan has a curious habit of never being where you left him last. That container was far too small so he got out of there before the lid was even sealed shut. Now he’s no doubt off on some crazy scatter-brained misfit of a journey, looking for God knows what, luring some other unsuspecting person into the greatest adventure of all time.

And you wanna know something? Quite frankly I’m sick of boring. I’m sick of my dreams being a dormant volcano. I’m sick of everything being safe and easy. I’m pretty much just sick of trying to tame the Great Cat–Aslan himself. All that ever happens is I end up losing him somewhere in the dubious process that happens along the way.

I think it’s time to finally let Aslan out of the cage of fear, familiarity, and unbelief so he can duly scare the crap out of me. It’ll be the adventure of a lifetime.

*Yes, hell surely exists.