A monastic cell should be a santuary and not a prison.
I’m not the kind of nun who bricks herself in
(although those who do might find
a greater freedom).
I am a nun with a horse within who likes to run,
hounds to hunt, crows to converse with the living and dead.
I caretake this space as a cell within the body
of this place, of this world, of this universe, of Annwn.
I listen for the heartbeat and obey only the Rule of the Heart.
The Sanctuary of Vindos 
There are those who wall themselves in with bricks of clay and those who do it with rigid ideas and and an inflexibility of mind. Your cell as sanctuary is a positive model.
Gosh, this really resonates with me. I’ve had a lot of conversations in my own head about my ambivalence about monasticism along these lines. Thanks for the beautiful poem.