The Eternal Wheel: Dialogues on Voluntary Prison

Do you believe you're free? The answer is as comfortable as it is false.

We were domesticated with such subtlety that we don't even perceive the invisible bars of the cage. Modern society didn't need iron chains. It used something more effective: the narrative of the dream. They said we have freedom of choice, that we can be whoever we desire, and that success is always within reach of the next decision. This dream, however, is nothing more than a brilliant simulacrum of fulfillment. It's just a carrot dangling in front of us while we continue running without realizing we never left the same place.

The wheel turns. It always turns.

From childhood we're prepared to accept this race as a natural order of existence. We observe our parents working happily, or pretending to, and learn that this is simply life. No one teaches us to question whether the wheel makes sense. We're trained only to spin it more efficiently than those beside us. Competition is incorporated into our behavior as if it were instinct. We study to get better jobs. We work to achieve more prestigious careers. We sacrifice our health for higher salaries. All of this to consume more, desire more, and accelerate the rhythm of this machine even further.

The system was built with such precision that it managed to transform slavery into ambition. What should cause indignation—dedicating the most valuable part of your own existence to enrich someone who sees you only as an operational cost—became a goal worthy of admiration. We call success what perhaps should awaken compassion.

This logic reveals itself even more cruelly when we observe how we define freedom. Society offers us a perverse deal. Work five or six days and, in return, receive a weekend. Forty hours of your life are delivered so that forty-eight hours seem like a privilege. Yet we thank this concession as if it were a gift.

This miserable division became our definition of freedom. We sleep two days to tolerate five others. Maybe there's time for a movie. Maybe some hours with family. Maybe just enough rest to restart the cycle on Monday. That's the size of the horizon we learned to consider acceptable. We accept this bargain because we were conditioned to believe no alternative exists.

That's precisely why discussions about work schedules like six-to-one often are presented as great battles for workers' rights. Yet even such a change would continue preserving the essence of prison. A more honest description might be seven days of work and none of rest. At least there'd be no room for fantasy. The message would be direct. You are not free. You belong to the system. The current model is crueler precisely because it feeds hope. It allows us to dream about Friday while we spend most of the week consumed by expectation of rest that will never be enough.

Therefore, the false freedom of the weekend may be even crueler than declared slavery. The slave, at least, knew their condition. We celebrate ours.

While millions continue turning the wheel, studying, working, consuming, and aging, those controlling the structure enjoy a completely different reality. They're on their yachts, walking the beach, contemplating the sunset while we watch our own existence drain away inside cubicles lit by cold lamps and poorly maintained air conditioners.

The perversity, however, doesn't end there. Many who apparently escaped the wheel continue depending on those imprisoned by it. They need employees to care for boats, prepare meals, drive cars, and maintain the comfort they conquered. Even apparent victory requires others to continue feeding the machine. The race was never about abandoning the wheel. It was always about reaching a position where you could climb over others. Even this possibility remains reserved for an infinitesimal portion of the population. Most will continue running until their last day.

None of this happens by accident. The structure is closed because it was designed to remain so.

Yet there's even deeper suffering reserved for those who can see beyond the invisible prison walls for a moment. These are those who perceive the cage's existence.

Perhaps it would be more merciful to remain in ignorance. Those who turn without questioning, believe the narrative, dream of a promotion, and plan next vacation usually suffer less. Illusion works as a powerful anesthetic. It offers enough comfort to make the cycle tolerable.

But the situation changes completely when consciousness awakens. After perceiving the emptiness of this endless pursuit, there's no possible return. You understand that the wheel spins only to keep spinning. You realize that effort doesn't necessarily lead to freedom. Still you keep running, because stopping means facing hunger, bills, and exclusion. The cage has no visible doors precisely because almost no one can imagine existence outside it.

That's the true curse of consciousness. Understanding that prison exists and, still, fulfilling your sentence daily.

Perhaps that's why social media became one of the most efficient instruments for preserving this mechanism. Influencers exhibit miraculous routes to freedom. They sell ready-made formulas, promise financial independence in few steps, and present carefully edited stories to convince anyone that a simple exit exists waiting for those who try hard enough.

Reality, however, is far less generous.

Most of those who apparently left the wheel only found a different version of the same servitude. It may be more comfortable, more sophisticated, and more lucrative, but it remains a form of dependence. As for the rare few who truly escaped, they become exceptions useful to the system itself. Their existence feeds collective hope and reinforces belief that everyone can reach the same destination, even when odds say otherwise.

The truth is most will never have the opportunity to stop. They'll keep turning from twenty to sixty-five years, or much longer. They'll remain running even after retirement, because worry about money never rests. The wheel accompanies each stage of existence until the last breath. Then it'll be handed to children, who'll pass it to their own descendants. Thus the cycle perpetuates without need for explicit coercion.

This text doesn't intend to motivate anyone. It also doesn't offer a call to rebellion. It simply describes an uncomfortable reality. The cage doesn't need bars because it learned to transform movement into freedom. We're free to turn. It's exactly this feeling of choice that keeps the prison functioning.

The wheel continues turning. It always turns.

You can stop reading now. You can return to your day, your routine, and the incessant motion of the wheel. Nothing will change. The truth is that, unlike what so many promise, there's no epiphany capable of freeing you. There's only the hope that one day freedom arrives. While it doesn't come, the wheel keeps turning. It always will.