Walking while wrestling with self-doubt, my own ball-and-chain. L
Waiting to be above the canopy; to see the expanse of opportunity and possibility. Imagining the wind cutting through my hair without care. Musing over the clouds and their shapes. Creating my life from the marshmallow world that is above my reach. A fantasy.
How do I cut through its hold? The ball-and-chain pulling me down feels as if I might be swallowed up by the cold, slimy mud. H
Starting to believe I am somehow limited. It is exhausting to fight. What if there is nothing beyond the shade? I want to believe there is more than just the trickle of light that drips down to me, mocking me. But, what if it is just an illusion? A spiteful reminder of the darkness that surrounds me?
NO. The beauty that slithers down and creates scintillating swords cutting through the darkness is too exquisite to be made up in my own imaginings. NO. There is more to be gained beyond my tip-toe reach. There is more.
Fighting with self-doubt until I am bloodied and sore, I lay cold in the wet mud. There is something poking my back and digging deep into my muscles. I writhe in pain and try to get to it before it pierces through me like a pin. I bring it up close to my face to see what it could possibly be. It is dark, and hard to see. But I know. It is glorious and perfect. It is a KEY.
“Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.”
William Shakespeare