(Reading time: Approximately 6 minutes)
“The dark fairy tale of a proletariat knight in search for freedom…
in a land where even a king is far too poor…”
Once upon a time, as a little innocent child, I believed in freedom. I believed in freedom as much as I believed in mermaids, fairies, unicorns and best of all Christmas with Santa Claus.
And yet, more than mermaids, or fairies, or unicorns, more than even jolly Ol Saint Nich, I was told Freedom was truly real. Freedom was inherently a reality in the nation I was to be raised in. I lived in the very country of freedom! Freedom a symbol of America; real and true!
And yet, I reflect upon my childhood, and I wonder as to what freedoms were really mine? Everything I did was either permissible or allowed of a “good child” or was considered “wrong” and naughty and therefore forbidden and if done punishable. A precursor of course to the dichotomy of life as an adult – as a free American.
And so the only true freedom I ever really knew, besides the fairytale of freedom – was doing what I wanted – when no one could stop me or cared to stop me – because what I was doing was of either no concern, or was just perhaps unknown to authority of either my mother or the school.
(But then again, I was a pretty good kid, who stayed out of trouble.)
And so, as a teenager, I realized I really had no freedom as a child except in the ways that ignorance provides bliss. My ignorance of just truly how far my lack of freedom really was and then just how much freedom I could pretend I had – was then dependent more so upon others ignorance, rather than my own – of just what I was really doing. And I understood soon enough the choices I was given were just that… choices given to me and therefore under the control and device of someone else’s intentions, and so really I had no freedom, and yet I persisted in the belief of freedom!
Despite long after loosing my belief in most fairytales, even Santa Claus, I still believed in freedom. True freedom existed and would be mine; all I had to was wait for a littler longer – just until I was 18, or maybe 21 – the magical numbers that were suppose to entitle me to all the freedoms of an adult and full-fledged citizen.
And yet, I am now past 30, and I do not feel free. Everything in my life is either permissible or allowed of a “good moral citizen” or “consumer” or is considered “immoral, illegal” and therefore forbidden – and if done made punishable. Punishable by mostly making me pay with money for tickets, citations, legal fees. Or, if I do something really wrong, (or perhaps even if I don’t, but I just can’t pay the fees) well, I might end up in jail; but either way the result is really the same in a twisted psychological way – I always have to pay!
And so where is the freedom? I can not loose freedom that I do not have – only loose the fantasy/illusion of my freedom.
But of course, the reality of jail – versus the fantasy of freedom – cannot be denied – in keeping one motivated to cling to the illusion or fantasy of freedom – at all cost!
And so like all fairytales that end with happily ever after in childhood; the adult reality proves to a be a very rude awakening from such childhood fantasies of freedom.
Now with the fairytale of freedom revealed to truly only be a fairytale, I realize at best I feel I live a life with the “enjoyment of an illusion of freedom”. Where a life of ornamented slavery dressed in the costume of my material existence of consumer “exercising my freedom of choice” less then secretly realizes the intricate machinations of a monetary rule. A rule that insidiously continues to force me into subjugation within a very controlled monetary system.
A system where my freedom is only a permission dealt to me by those in authority… and good for only as long as I play along/pay along; and behave myself to the way they like. And the all mighty dollar and those who control the dollar decide my every free choice and how much the freedom to choose – will truly cost me…
Taxes the very least of my expense!
For everything, I must pay. I must pay for an education I cannot afford… and yet truly I cannot afford to remain ignorant! And if I insist that I must be educated, then they will only have me be an educated slave – by ensuring they lock me deeper into debt within the vice of their monetary machine.
And I must pay to dress in clothes because my naked body is worse than a sin; it is made criminal and actually declared indecent and illegal to be naked; and unless I want to pay for a ticket and or pay with time in jail, I better just pay for some clothes – the more expensive, the better!
And I must pay for food, water, housing, medical care, transportation, for everything, every day just to survive – I must continue to pay!
Even to the extent of my very personality, I am forced to pay, pay attention and adhere to culture and societal norms – decreed by others, less I be disruptive and again made a deviant criminal, and again made to pay; or even worse branded a terrorist – of which the cost, I could never begin to pay!
And when I cannot pay for all the more normal things for which I am required to pay, I am “given credit” again “a choice” by someone else’s control and intention that if “chosen” by me – really only gives me more debt…
Debt that is a promise that I will be a good slave and work hard and produce monetary gains in order to hopefully one day buy my freedom from debt…
I will buy myself out of debt and (dare I dream?) out of the necessity of the need to continue to spend my life working as a monetary slave…
But that day seems very far away, when every day I continue to have to pay, pay for everything and nothing, of which I can and cannot afford!
But I wonder, if I ever had so much money that I could do fantastically just that.. truly, one day buy my freedom… then I wonder what really is my freedom? Is my freedom nothing more than to be able just to pay for whatever I want, whenever I want?
And of course at first that doesn’t sound too bad, but on second thought, that’s not what I thought freedom was, and I don’t think that is the freedom people come to America for when they come with a dream to be free in the supposed land of the free.
Doesn’t that just make freedom a commodity that requires it to bought with money? And not just any money but a great deal of money.
So to be free, I must be rich?
I wonder, how rich do I really have to be – for such a splendid freedom?
I think the truth is – not even a king could afford such a ransom.
And so here I am, living in the dark fairy tale of a proletariat knight – in search for freedom – in a land where even a king is far too poor…
(Images used with permission from PIXABAY.COM)