Jean Paul Sartre used to say, “Exits are everywhere.” This was especially important to know when, like Sartre, you live in Vichy France in 1942 and the SS is searching houses and looking for you.
But I’m different from that Philistine philosophique Sarte, and maybe even a better philosopher. And so I like to think that Entrances are everywhere, too. Entrances to that Spiritual Perfection can be found in prison, just like they can be found in a harried crack addict who's on her last nerve--and suddenly she realizes:
There's just this mote (or bon motte) of a crack in the doorway, and the crack of dawn, and there’s a crack that carries you into that divine perfection, where you remember for a minute that you're more than this false desire for drugs and other illusions of the flesh. So take that, Sartre! You sorry Frog f*cker.