The Only Thing to Fear
photo by Amy Thompson
know this
and know this well
you are the moment
before the stroke of the brush
the explosion of stars
the click of the pen
yet you fear
whatever is
coming next
are you afraid of how much
something will hurt this time
because of how much it hurt the last time
or because of your misperception
of how much it hurt the first time,
if it actually did at all
because what could hurt you
the second time doesn't have to hurt
as much
as the first time
it doesn't have to hurt at all
when you can feel change coming
what is it
that you're so afraid of
are you afraid of
the unknown
how could you be afraid
of something
of anything
If you don't know what it is
forge ahead anyway
for the only thing
we can hope to have
as a bonus to right now
is forward
we know we can't go back
all we have for sure is now
and the guidance
of the glimmer
of a mere possibility
of the potential
of a tomorrow
there is no role for fear
neither in today
nor in tomorrow
for one who is
not afraid to die
because how could you
be afraid to die
when you have
no memory
that you were ever afraid
of being born*
and if you are not afraid of death
because you were not afraid of being birthed
the only thing to fear
then
…and it's not fear itself
is that you might perceive anything temporary as permanent;
anything transient as everlasting
that you might confuse
the mutable tendencies
of life's daily vagaries
with the eternal law of your soul
you are older than god
the oldest of the ancient
god IS
because your thoughts
conceive
of him
so let the matter be finished
and put this to rest today
allow fear, your misplaced devotion to
the temporary
dissolve back
into the eternal galaxy
that is the expanse of
your soul
right now
today
for one who
does not fear death
for having never once
feared your own birth
what is there to fear
in the hours between
your lids opening
in the morning
to the rising sun
and your lids closing
in the evening
when it sets
the only thing to fear
then
is that you might mistake
the content of your days
as something permanent
and you might misinterpret
the content of your soul as something transient
but how can you measure
with your right hand
the event horizon
that is your own soul’s truth
whilst holding the other
end of the ruler
measuring the
supposed grandiosity
of the seconds
and minutes
in the span of your single days
with your left
idiocy
impossibility
futility
uselessness
let that be the end of it
the end of the mental gymnastic
and live
*Spartacus, Kirk Douglas, 1960
