The way of cowardice is to embed ourselves in a cocoon, in which we perpetuate our habitual patterns. When we are constantly recreating our basic patterns of behavior and thought, we never have to leap into fresh air or onto fresh ground. Instead, we wrap ourselves in our own dark environment, where our only companion is the smell of our own sweat. We regard this dank cocoon as a family heirloom or inheritance, and we don’t want to give that bad-good, good-bad memory away. In the cocoon there is no dance: no walking, or breathing, not even a wink of the eyes. It is comfortable and sleepy: an intense and very familiar home. In the world of the cocoon, such things as spring cleaning have never been known. We feel that it is too much work, too much trouble to clean it up. We would prefer to go back to sleep.
In the cocoon there is no idea of light at all, until we experience some longing for openness, some longing for something other than the smell of our own sweat. When we begin to examine that comfortable darkness-look at it, smell it, feel it- we find it is claustrophobic….