The Prison & The Palace

"Life does not tell stories. People do.
Life provides no more than raw materials. Raw enough for us to look back and construct at least two versions of our own biography: one a prison, the other a palace.

This is the greatest kindness the Master of Life has given us: He has placed His own pen in our hands, so that we may enjoy the dignity of a palace constructed by our own design."

-From the wisdom of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, of righteous memory.

I read the above words of wisdom here.

I cannot help but feel the awe and inspiration of this gift we all receive on a moment by moment basis. Our lives begin as the story others tell about us and little by little, we grow to own the story we tell about ourselves. Given these raw materials, we not only have the responsibility to build upon our foundation, we also enjoy the dignity of free will. We choose the prison or the palace, and we get to make this choice again and again--in each and every moment.

But what separates the prison from the palace? Given the very same raw materials to work with, why is my structure a prison and his a palace? Or why, in this moment, does my edifice feel like a palace but tomorrow it resembles a prison?

The Raw Materials are just that--raw. Some raw materials exist in a natural state of beauty, and require no further manipulation. Others arrive in an unattractive lump of coal which requires significant refinement before a diamond might emerge. Is the diamond any less real because we cannot yet see it? Of course not! But our eyes can only perceive its inherent beauty after it has undergone a unique transformation that requires time, pressure and heat. We, too, carry within us a distinct and inherent beauty. It is only completely revealed through self-refinement. This requires time, proper encouragement and the ever burning fire of our own inner longing.

We All Put Up Walls. We write our heartfelt prayers and somehow fit them in the cracks. Some of these walls are necessary. They keep us safe. They protect us. They keep the warmth and the light inside and they shield us from the outside elements. Some are unnecessary altogether. They keep life's fears and wounds inside. They keep love and healing at an insurmountable distance. These must be destroyed. Still others served a function at one time, but are no longer necessary or helpful to us. They inhibit us and stunt our growth, but their familiarity falsely gives way to feelings of security. We know full well the bounds and limits of existence on the inside; what we don't yet know is the extent of possibility that lies just beyond our line of vision.

Written prayers placed inside the Western Wall

We All Incur Some Structural Damage. As time goes on, our story evolves and walls decay. Where our edifice may have been a bit weak, sometimes things completely fall apart. We choose to rebuild, or move on, or sometimes to stop altogether and mourn that loss. Maybe we only need to patch up a few areas. Maybe we need to tear more down and locate the last spot that is strong enough to build from. In these areas of structural integrity, even the signs of age look charming, quaint, and beautiful. Sometimes they look like laugh lines. Other times they look more like tear stains or battle scars. In either scenario--and all the scenarios in between--these are the images that illustrate the story of our becoming. They tell of our accomplishments, our hopes, our dreams, our hurts and our joys. They are visions of where we came from, of who we already are, and who we strive to be. These are our Truths and no one else can build them or tear them down.

Our Age Gives Us Wisdom That Our Youth Tempers With Hope. And then there comes a time at which we realize that the monsters underneath the bed never really go away. The same monsters that kept us awake at night as frightened little girls and boys show up again and again even as we become adults. Suddenly, the obvious culprits--with their gargantuan hands and yellow teeth and spiky fur now look more and more like the girl next door or the guy across the street. They are cunning and deceiving in their familiarity, they catch us unawares. And sometimes, frighteningly, they look a whole lot like our very own reflection! What do we do? Where do we turn? How does the story continue?




We Take the Pen In Our Own Hands and Simultaneously Loosen Our Grip. We do hold the pen and there is inherent dignity and responsibility in being our own autobiographer.  But in reality, telling and retelling that story all alone--that is how prisons are made. The palace emerges out of the thick of the fog when we come to realize, understand, and trust that our story is best experienced when shared. We were not meant to build a city of solitude; we were meant to create a vibrant and flourishing community. What looks like coal to one person is clearly a diamond to another; inherently we depend on each other's vision to view the picture as a whole. And together we create this tapestry that is woven out of threads in every color--shades of love, shades of loss, shades of joy, and shades of sadness. There are shades of success, and failure, of hope and regret, memories and dreams. At once they both color our past and give light to our future. This truly is the greatest kindness of our loving Creator!

My heartfelt prayer for us all today--myself included--is that we can tap into the genuine gratitude we feel for this gift of 'raw materials' we receive in each and every moment. May we all courageously take the pen in one hand and the hammer in the other as the authors of our story and the carpenters of this world we collectively call our home. May we cultivate the kindness, compassion, and patience to build upon our unique and glorious foundations. May we also have the wisdom and clarity to know when it's time to burn down that final wall and overcome. And lastly, may we all merit to see and to articulate our story in the image of a palace where we shared the Truest parts of ourselves with loving others--and not a prison in which we suffer alone.