Fear Is A Cat


To write without self-consciousness;

to speak,

and to walk

without self-consciousness.


To laugh, freely,

as children do.


To live, freely,

as the insane do.


That seems to me to be

a worthy goal.


To not be bound by the limitations

of fear.


All of its trappings,

and unfortunate consequences.


Fear is a magnet,

sending it’s vibrations far and ride,

pulling back to us the things we want to push away.


Returning to us like a cat,

back in the morning from the night’s stalk;

dropping at our door

the dead mouse.


Fear is that cat.

And the dead mouse is the stench

of everything that smells of fear;

everything that has that sour, smelling odor;


everything ugly,

and everything weak,

and everything vulgar

comes from fear.

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