Once there was a prison that did not have any cells, or walls, or fences. The prison was very real, however, and people often remained incarcerated for life. In this place, called, “The Prison of Blame,” the inmates constantly concerned themselves with finding others to blame for every difficult thing that happened in their lives, and they constantly excused themselves of accepting any responsibility—save for the few moments when they recited the obligatory, “Yes, I know I played some role, but…” And it was precisely after they uttered the “but” that they went right back to what they really believed: namely, that whatever happened in their lives that they didn’t like was someone else’s fault.
When these prisoners couldn’t get others to listen about the blame for why their lives were the way they were—people do grow tired of listening to the same complaints over and over, after all (which is certainly someone’s fault, the inmates just haven’t figured out whose fault that is yet)—they turned their blame to society… and oh, were there endless ills to be found, woes to be discussed, and targets to blame!
To keep them in line, the prisoners of blame had a warden who would, from time to time, help guide the inmates about what to be upset about. And whether or not what the warden said resonated with their own personal experiences, the prisoners nonetheless readily formed a blame-coalition of sorts, and charged full speed ahead to find, prosecute, and execute the so-blamed (either by literally killing them or by rallying enough other prisoners to kill any sense of security the so-blamed had).
This prison was hell on earth for the inmates themselves. It was a misery like no other, because the inmates never had any sense of control. But as with every challenge, eventually, a solution presents itself—often in the form of an outsider who wants to help. In this case, there was a Zen master passing through the land who encountered some of these prisoners. He had no desire to free them, only to shine light on the truth. What the inmates did with that was entirely up to them.
He spoke to them, but it wasn’t a flowery speech or motivational words; it was only a single point of awareness. But a single point is sometimes more than enough, and what he said was so awakening that it pierced through the gateless gates of the institution that was this prison of blame. He said, “I have seen what you believe to be a perimeter, and there is none. So there are no keys to free you, because you are already free.” The prisoners’ only saving grace, you see, was themselves—for them to let go of blaming others and focus entirely on what they could do with whatever happened from this moment forward.
It is said that the prisoners freed themselves, one by one, when they were ready. But there was one fool among them, Moorkah, who remained locked up in the prison of blame. He had no willingness to let go of blaming someone for something, and so he alone remained incarcerated. Over time, his mental cell became a solitary confinement of suffering. The people just shook their heads and laughed at the fool who still needed to have someone to blame, because they forgot that they were once imprisoned like him. And their forgetfulness is excusable, of course, because the only thing they focused on now, instead of blame, was what they could do with how things were from this moment forward.
And they were free.