I read this passage in a book called Transitions by William Bridges:
"The old radio comedian, Bob Burns (The Arkansas Traveler), used to tell the story of eating army food for the first time after eighteen yeas of his mother’s deep fat frying. A week of bland GI fare was enough to cure something he had never realized he suffered from: heartburn. But rather than feelinig relief at his improvement, Burns rushed into the dispensary, clutching his stomach adn yelling, “Doc, doc! Help me! I’m dying. My fire went out”.
This reminded me of the lyrics in the great Genesis album “Selling England By the Pound”:
“And so with Gods and men
The sheep remain inside their pen.
Even though they’ve seen the way to leave.”
How much of your existence takes place within a pen, or within a paradigm where you will put up with pain as a trade in for security?