A friend recently used an odd descriptor for a mutual friend, he told me, “Have you ever noticed how nervous he is, he is motivated by fear.” Hmm, I thought, thinking about it and seeing verisimilitude to my own observations. “Yes, I noticed,” said another friend, “I noticed also when he let go of fear, didn’t you? I heard it in his voice not too long ago, the way he began cracking jokes and seemed relaxed, he let go of caring about this because he was already someplace else.”
My thoughts on fear is to rail rail against fear when it rears its ugly head, rail and knock it down to its knees, because fear is a paralysis, fear is what tells you that living comfortably is better than living on the edge, when life is a knife blade, where emotions are real and thoughts are pure. Fear sucks your soul out. The other day I was supported by the bare feet of my yogi and flew through the air with my arms outstretched and that was a transformative moment – that is where I want to be – wings spread.
I love the hell out of this poem by Lawrence:
Song of a Man Who Has Come Through
By D. H. Lawrence
Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!
A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.
If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me!
If only I am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift!
If only, most lovely of all, I yield myself and am borrowed
By the fine, fine wind that takes its course through the chaos of the world
Like a fine, an exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade inserted;
If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge
Driven by invisible blows,
The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hesperides.
Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul,
I would be a good fountain, a good well-head,
Would blur no whisper, spoil no expression.
What is the knocking?
What is the knocking at the door in the night?
It is somebody wants to do us harm.
No, no, it is the three strange angels.
Admit them, admit them