May I choose not to fear my fear

There is a Fitting—a Dismay— / A Fitting—a Despair / ’Tis harder knowing it is Due / Than knowing it is Here. / They Trying on the Utmost / The Morning it is new / Is Terribler than wearing it / A whole existence through.

—Emily Dickinson

Fear is a bewilderment An uncertainty of self To face persons or situations Of not knowing what is required of you And faithlessness in yourself Invites the violence you fear For the world simply reflects Your uncertainty back at you And the reflection will haunt you

See the haunted adorned In their character armour Shoulders back, narrowed gaze Anal sphincter tightened Balls drawn up all the way With foreshortened breath And racing hearts they exist Only to fight or be used to fight

For you were meant to feel Your fear, to act, and let it go In a flash it floods your mind Into alertness, and then recedes To hold on to it is an intoxication A chronic, agitated priming Of your vital attention Away from what matters most

What is needed of you is to See past the particular, here and now To the wider and deeper fears Beyond the impulse To run away and hide Or to stand and fight