The Thought Cage

I can’t take credit for the term “thought cage.” Maybe it’s common—I don’t know—but I heard it for the first time from my friend Edi Pasalis . And Edi, well, she won’t tell you this because she’s super humble, but she’s by far one of the smartest, most eloquent, spiritual people I’ve had the fortune to know in this life.

We met a few months ago at Kripalu—a fateful meeting, really—and bonded quickly over a few shared experiences. Edi has this calm, unshakable energy, the kind you immediately trust. And she’s got credentials that make you listen even closer: degrees from some pretty hoity-toity (how do you spell that?) institutions, including Harvard Divinity School. So for someone like me—someone who’s thinking a lot about existential things these days—Edi has become my go-to.

The other day, Edi and I were talking. It was one of those conversations that winds through familiar territory (hawks, landscaping, you know) but somehow lands somewhere profound. You know the kind. The kind you don’t forget (ever).

And at one point, she said this beautiful phrase: “the thought cage.”

It stopped me in my tracks.

It’s been on my mind ever since. And, as you know, I spend a lot of time walking. One of my usual routes is up Hill Road, which winds past one of the oldest cemeteries in the area—dating back to the 1700s. Is it weird to walk in a cemetery? Maybe. But I do it anyway. They’re peaceful. Still. And honestly, some of the most beautiful displays of nature happen there. Like on this snowy morning.

So there I was, after my conversation with Edi, wandering the cemetery, letting my mind go. And something struck me. On these old headstones, you’ll read inscriptions like, “So-and-so, son of Joseph, and his wife, Marie.” And it hit me: why?

Why is it always “son of Joseph”? Why is the wife—the woman—reduced to her relation? Someone carried that child. Birthed him. Gave life. Poured her energy into bringing him into this world, and then beyond, nursing him through her body.

This isn’t a rant about patriarchy (not today, anyway). It’s just… a question. Why? Why do we accept this as the norm? That we’re relative to the man, as recorded by history? To be read, hundreds of years later, by some lady and her dog walking by.

And then, as my mind does, it started to wander. Back through time. Not hundreds of years, but thousands, maybe more. And I landed on Adam and Eve. Yep. Right there, in the purported beginning. The original sin.

We are back, all the way back, to there.

Have you seen that thing floating around on Facebook? The one about Eve? It talks about how Eve isn’t celebrated; she’s vilified. She takes the blame. Adam gets celebrated for the same story where she’s condemned. And it’s all connected.

We get it. But why did we, as a collective, accept this?

That’s not a rhetorical question….

Seriously why?

That this is the way it was meant to be? That this imbalance—this cage—is normal?

We teach it. We pass it down. Codify it in our holy books. Teach it in Sunday school. It becomes so ingrained we stop questioning it. And that, I think, is what Edi meant by the thought cage.

We’re trapped in it. In the beliefs we inherit without even realizing. The rules we don’t remember choosing. The stories that shape us before we ever learn to shape them for ourselves.

But here’s the thing about cages: they don’t just keep you in. They also keep you from seeing what’s outside. From even imagining it. And that’s what hit me in the cemetery that day, and today. How much of my own thinking—my own living—is shaped by what I’ve been taught to accept, to believe, to not even question?

The thought cage. A simple phrase. But it’s one of those ideas that starts to crack something open. Just a little at first. Enough to let some light in.

So now, I walk, and I think. About Edi’s words. About those headstones. About the stories we’ve been told—and the stories we’re still telling ourselves.

And I wonder: how do we unlock the cage?

I’m hoping Edi has some answers to that. That, we will discuss during our next conversation. Stay tuned.