Fear.
Noun.
An unpleasant emotion caused by the threat of danger, pain or harm.
I’ve always wondered what the true identity of fear is. Is it merely a masked stranger that requests residence in our heart when our soul is lodged in the dark crevices of mortal danger? Is it the shackles that bind us tightly, rendering us incapable of movement in the face of mysterious unfamiliarity? Is fear the pool of molten lead that weighs down our throat, chokes us, snatches our breaths away, leaving us desperate and needy and gasping and panting for an escape that is as uncertain as it is desired?
Or is it the buoyant cape sewn with intermingling threads of hope that pushes past the overcast sky into the beautiful stillness beyond? Is fear the niggling prick that bolsters us and motivates us to push our limits beyond something we’ve never known? Is that little abstract noun the reason why we thirst to explore the depths of the shadowy places that little Simba was warned against, and prove to ourselves that we’re capable of defeating the cold shadows and bringing light to a dreary place with just a tiny flame of hope, always flickering alive in our hearts?
Fear is the flame that attracts the moths and burns them, because that’s we all remain, tiny little moths that entrap themselves and turn to ashes because of a single moment of flight. We don’t realize that fear is also the flame that drives away the shadows on a stormy night, a tiny flicker that gives us more comfort than the flooding sun on a summer day. A tiny pinprick of hope that buoys us through gales that our confidence gets battered against.
Fear is the determined smile of a young girl as she struggles to get onto her first bike, and fear is the shadow in the eyes of someone venturing into the coldness he struggles against.
My question is: In the end, is that noun the unpleasant sensation or is it our reaction to it?
Fin.
Noun.
An unpleasant emotion caused by the threat of danger, pain or harm.
I’ve always wondered what the true identity of fear is. Is it merely a masked stranger that requests residence in our heart when our soul is lodged in the dark crevices of mortal danger? Is it the shackles that bind us tightly, rendering us incapable of movement in the face of mysterious unfamiliarity? Is fear the pool of molten lead that weighs down our throat, chokes us, snatches our breaths away, leaving us desperate and needy and gasping and panting for an escape that is as uncertain as it is desired?
Or is it the buoyant cape sewn with intermingling threads of hope that pushes past the overcast sky into the beautiful stillness beyond? Is fear the niggling prick that bolsters us and motivates us to push our limits beyond something we’ve never known? Is that little abstract noun the reason why we thirst to explore the depths of the shadowy places that little Simba was warned against, and prove to ourselves that we’re capable of defeating the cold shadows and bringing light to a dreary place with just a tiny flame of hope, always flickering alive in our hearts?
Fear is the flame that attracts the moths and burns them, because that’s we all remain, tiny little moths that entrap themselves and turn to ashes because of a single moment of flight. We don’t realize that fear is also the flame that drives away the shadows on a stormy night, a tiny flicker that gives us more comfort than the flooding sun on a summer day. A tiny pinprick of hope that buoys us through gales that our confidence gets battered against.
Fear is the determined smile of a young girl as she struggles to get onto her first bike, and fear is the shadow in the eyes of someone venturing into the coldness he struggles against.
My question is: In the end, is that noun the unpleasant sensation or is it our reaction to it?
Fin.
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~ WWS.