My Body Is A Cage

My body is a cage
That keeps me from dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
My body is a cage
That keeps me from dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

This is the first verse of the song 'My Body Is A Cage' by Arcade Fire, which is not necessary for me to repeat again, but I did anyway just in case you missed it.  The song is playing at the top of this page.

It might be my favorite song off of their newest album, Neon Bible, which is rife with religious references.  This verse resonated with me today at work.

Why?

Because, as Paul talks about in his writings, and as Arcade Fire says so poignantly, I often struggle with the frustrating truth that, indeed, "my body is a cage."

It is in many, many ways.  This wretched exterior of flesh, "brother ass," is so limiting and so limited.  It wans in strength just when I desire to do more.  Its lusts pervert my perspective and waste my time and thoughts.  It prevents me from being in more than one place at a time, and bounds me to one situation at a time, which is very irritating.

Yes, MY BODY IS A CAGE, and most of the time, I hate it, because it "keeps me from dancing with the one I love."  It holds me back from being with my Love, not just physically, but in a deeper, spiritual way as well.  The latter is what cuts me the deepest.

But, is it true that "my mind holds the key"?

Here is an excerpt from a superb site I discovered today:

The Talmudic Mnemonists

The Talmud, the transcribed collection of Jewish oral law and its commentaries, constitutes 5,422 pages like those at right. In 1917, an article appeared in the journal Psychological Review about an incredible group of Polish Talmud scholars known as the Shass Pollak:

a pin would be placed on a word, let us say, the fourth word in line eight; the memory sharp would then be asked what word is in the same spot on page thirty-eight or fifty or any other page; the pin would be pressed through the volume until it reached page thirty eight or page fifty or any other page designated; the memory sharp would then mention the word and it was found invariably correct. He had visualized in his brain the whole Talmud; in other words, the pages of the Talmud were photographed on his brain. It was one of the most stupendous feats of memory I have ever witnessed and there was no fake about it.

Does strict and astounding memorization of, or even just an acquaintance with a sacred text hold the key?  Can deep, thorough knowledge and understanding of writings, doctrines, and theology bridge the gap between us and the Love we (knowingly or unknowingly) desire so arduously?

What, or who frees us?  What, or who holds the key?