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Holding the Hand of Fear

by Tiffany L. Schrade


I feel it there, in it's all consuming chaos, knocking me from my equilibrium; coaxing an opaque haze over what I'd known to be true.

This fear, insidious enough to betray

my wholeness; this oneness;

convince me of separation.

This fear.

Is it deflected, to live in ignorant squalor,

only to resurface more fiercely,

blindsiding its prey?

This fear.

Does it extend to project, in order to maintain

a distance from what we know to be ours,

but cannot and will not accept?

This fear.

Should it whisper in the ear to be

scapegoated, placing false evidence on

the unsuspecting, the undeserved?

This fear.

I told her, "do not be afraid," in a

hypocritical tone.

Yet I know that journey is hers,

and hers alone.

I had my own.

And as I sat with it,

I knew fear was taking my hand and

unwittingly leading me down its path.

Doing simply, what it does.

Instead I pulled and guided fear

towards my future, to show it the

beauty that lies ahead.

But when I looked back,

my hand was empty.

This fear, was an apparition.

A lesson.

That fear was a choice, all along.

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