Fear

Written 10/6/2010Fear comes in an unthinkable number of arrangements, acres and acres of flower beds lined with the seeds of regret, indecision, shame, guilt and a sense that one has been forsaken, even by ones self. Fear is odorless but tangible like a wind against the skin. It borrows from the weather storms of torrential emotion caving in and over itself, foamy and cold.Not uncommon it manages  to poke a level finger in whichever direction is the most opportune. It does not tire. It does not toil. There is nothing unnatural about it. We would be lost without it. We would have no knowledge of where the edges of our worlds are. We would teeter on the brink of respect should it ever leave us while our quest for more of anything leaves our lives in a quake of dust, indivisible.At some point, our fears have clogged us up. We spurt and gasp for something soothing with which to salve these mostly innocent wounds. We glare and protest until it is all we can possibly bear and then we cease to struggle anymore. We tread at the deep end of the pool, tormented by the thought of the shark that has never been there. And then we let go, hands wide and waving above our shoulders and a sigh of rigid relief. Exhausted from feeding our faces with fear, we repent. Forget. Smile in to the sun, smile inside for a light and tender moment of time. This is what the fear is for. We would not be so content without this contrast of experiences.  Gloating, aimless, fear remains crouched by our side a seemingly relentless rock dragging behind its dingy cloak a wagons worth of ideas.