There will be no monuments to my battles. No records of my trials. No one will see the monsters I went out to meet. No one will remember their size or ferocity.
Stepping into fear
When I woke up the dragon was already there. I have woken up to so many mornings – days that end only to turn into another, growing into weeks, marking months – with a pain in my chest and a knowledge of fear. I have woken up to so many mornings and directed myself into a beast whose form is fear itself, whose claws are my own retreat, whose fiery breath shades me in procrastination and doubt.
The monsters in the world we can face eye to eye. They are a battle unto themselves.
The monsters inside us we can face only by fearing them. They are a battle unto themselves.
There are key differences between the monsters inside and outside, although both must be faced by moving into an oncoming wind of fear. But whereas the external monsters must be defeated by attrition of harm (by avoiding their barbs and destroying their’s), the internal monsters must be defeated by brave surrender (that promises damnation) and a courage of love (that promises betrayal).
No one can see the sword I have stilled when standing before a face with a hundred lying teeth and a hundred seductive poisons. No one can see the boulder I have pushed up the hill; allowing the beast to suffocate my nerves with its repulsive tentacles. Over and over again. Over and over again, until I could nestle it in my heart. Until I could know (and I continue to learn) that there is no monster only myself. That there is nothing to be defeated, only accepted. That I am strong enough to be me when I am fear as well.
I no longer believe (although the idea still compels me by habituation) that fear is to be defeated. Fear must be feared.
I have fought this battle a thousand times, and I shall fight it a thousand times more. And no one shall remember this war.
Stepping underneath fear
I have watched the fear depart, and there is a great relief (though it will return). I have watched the fear depart, and there is an ocean of sadness and an inferno of anger underneath.
The first time I saw this Stygian mindscape I recoiled, and it departed. I battled the dragon for more days (becoming weeks, becoming month) until I could face this cesspool again. And I have and I do.
There are waters that threaten eternal drowning. There are fires that threaten an apocalypse of innocents. Both are shrouded in armours of fear.
Beneath the waters and beneath the fires is a mountain of shame. The mountain is crushing, and insists on insignificance and worthlessness and a verdict of existential failure.
This is the topology I have discovered. It is my own. It is interwoven and complex, and laced with cross-bridges of memories and matrices of beliefs.
I do not believe that the sadness can be enraptured by convincing it of happiness. Nor the anger pacified by promises of peace. Nor the shame collapsed by proof of power, significance, or rarity.
To battle the sadness means to be sad. I mean to be angry. I mean to be ashamed.
I shall fight this battle a thousand times. And none shall see me wake up convinced of failure. None shall commend my efforts that I carry as I drown. None shall be impressed that I choose to allow anger to fill my heart. And none shall agree with my capitulation to shame.
You might reward me for my work and admire my studies. You might applaud me when I race, and reminiscence with me when I climb a mountain. But this is my war and this is my challenge and this is the hardest thing that I do.
This is my war. I ask myself to be brave. I ask myself to persevere. I ask myself to remember the secret motivations of a transcendental strategy.
