Fear is the Mind-Killer

Any time I don't write for a few days, it feels like such a long time.

My friends, fear is crippling.

Have you read Dune by Frank Herbert? It was a great book turned into a great movie turned into a great computer game. Like every good story—especially science-fiction story—it has some trippy things going on, but, with every good story, there are some bold lessons to be drawn out.

One of my favorite excerpts is the  Bene-Gesserit Litany Against Fear:

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

I've long been fond of mantras/litanies/prayers/recitations, repeated words by which we remember hearty truths and align ourselves with those who went before us.

Though it has a different hue, I am reminded of the Meadowvale Mantra:

Though the day breaks with heavy hearts,
No heart is broken in vain.
Though a sword is at our door,
A sword is also in our hand.
Though we regret the past and fear the future,
We act today.
Though we may not taste it today,
Our children will drink freedom tomorrow.
Though tomorrow is shrouded,
Our loyalty shines bright.
Though darkness creeps over our land,
One candle will cast it out.
Though we may die,
Truth will live.
Though it may be costly,
Good will overcome!

I was so proud of that when I wrote it. Originally, it started years ago as "Though it may be costly, goodness will overcome in the end." I think the end is bolder now, sharper.

And I suppose that, while we are on the topic, I should share the poem I recently wrote about fear:

How The Fear Clings
Oh, how the fear clings
Like a bad gasp of breath,
And how the fear stings
Like the whisper of death.
It glistens and slides
Like the dripping of blood.
It shames and it chides
Like a famine and flood.
Not my fear, you know,
For I chose not this thorn.
It’s fear that you grow
Long after you are born.
It’s bred in the dark;
It’s unseen in the light.
It leaves not a mark,
But it cripples despite.
When you call its name
And bring it to trial,
It changes the game
And hides in denial.
So you try to flee,
But it hunts after you,
For, if you were free,
It’d have nothing to do.
The fear that you taste
Cannot stand on its own;
It needs to be placed
In the core of your bones.
The sad truth, although,
Is there is no soft cure.
To stifle the flow,
You must break and endure.
Your own heart must break,
And, one shard at a time,
Each piece you must take
Through the bars of the crime.
The holes are too few,
And the bars are too proud,
But pieces of you
Can fit right through the crowd.
And after you strained
Through the unguarded gaps,
Are no longer chained
To ancestral mishaps,
You may find a change
In the shards you collect:
Both lovely and strange
Are the wounds we effect.
And so you must choose
Between freedom and peace.
If not, you must lose
From your heart every piece. - 6/20/2017

 I'm not sure what to do with all that, but it all felt timely.