When fear meets you at the edge

 

 

All you can do

is breathe

when fear meets you at the edge

can you do anything else?

 

you stand too close to the end,

looking down at the water

and think of all the events that preceded this

what were you thinking?

 

the hand is sweaty too

but it promises to hold you

and you look into the eye

that says this ain’t goodbye

 

but the heart is fluttering

and the fear is mounting

and the collective beauty of the woods

isn’t enough to console you

 

you can feel fear – swelling

from the guts to the gall

from the toe to the tips

its embedded deep within you

 

and then the breath gives away

and you know it-

in the stickiness of the hold

the heaviness of the gulp

 

its time – just do it,

tugs the hand

and thus you embrace

the fall

 

the seconds

in mid-air,

trembling, holding

gasping for air

 

gravity works and buoyancy thrusts

and you find yourself

reborn in the girdle of

the pond

 

all soaked

in the flowing melted ice

recoiled

fetus like inward

 

fear free

un-charred

into the wild

born out alive

 

breathing into

fear’s fiefdom

not completely

devoid of it

 

but

glad you

could

breathe with it. 

 

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