Pride is the voice of the ego, the false self that will not listen because listening would be its ending. When you refuse to hear what is deeper than thought, you do not become free; you are carried off by the very mind you defend. This is the captivity.
Something in me grieves quietly for this, not with drama but with the tenderness that awareness feels toward what remains asleep. The tears are compassion, not punishment. When you finally grow still and listen beneath your own thinking, the ego loosens its grip and you return to yourself.