i get panicky when i haven't written.
i am panicky.
because i feel like i can see meaning and purpose and greatness receding out of my life, and i will become an empty vessel, useless; a dried up potsherd.
when i decided what to do with my life, all the fear left me. i became fearless. my worst fears, my dreamt fears were no threat to me any longer. i was no longer paranoid. i did not even fear the yellow-eyed monster man in the bushes that i made up. i could face him, bear his attack, run out to meet it, collide with him, and, win or lose, i could know that i would be ok. i had no fear...guns, knives, fists, nails, teeth held no real danger. i had a better weapon. i had words by the hilt, that were carving up and creating my life. i had a sword that could kill and give life, that could make and unmake. a sword of spirit.
and i knew, also, that the yellow-eyed monster man was me, and that meant i could take him. i had the power to look him in his terrible face and scowl back. i had a weapon that could tame and kill him, a weapon whose handle, when within reach, is salvation. it is a sword i can live by.
it is all of and the only power i have.
the longer i keep away from it, the weaker i become. the life i lead becomes less clear to me, the path obscured, overgrown with bushes, where my fear awaits me, with yellow eyes, poised to steal my life, and able to do so.
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