Fear 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 the oneself. 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.

This fear pervasive and poking 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 might be lost without it. We would have no knowledge of where the edges of our worlds collide.

At some point, our fears clog 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 and aimless Fear remains crouched by our side, a seemingly relentless jock dragging behind its dingy cloak a wagons worth of unsafe ideas.

And off we seem to go, anyway.

All this blabbering is just to say that while the fear of things I cannot control or change is disseminated through many of life’s circumstances it seems to at the same time illuminate all the things that leave me fearless. Courage and hope and dreams of making good and laughs and trying to understand that it is all going to be alright.

Written 9/29/10, one year before she died and posted today for Donnie Cox who felt the fear and this week let it go.

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