My Fears, My Self

I think all fears are only fears of discomfort. Of one kind or another. Of suffering in varied degrees. Sufferings of mind or of body. Sufferings great or very small. Then again, if sufferings are the primary doors to self-seeking and life-understanding, then one must convince oneself to embrace it every time. Endurance of these countless sufferings, as we know them to be, keeps shaping and reshaping the soul.  

The fears must be acknowledged though. They are so real. They are often true of their forebodings, oftener not. They must be assured and protected all the while inside a safe room of love and understanding. If I could talk to my fears, like they were my children, I would tell them that it may hurt a little, then they will be fine. But the soul, it must go out and endure. Because there is simply no other way to live life.

Eventually I see myself finding answers and explanations to questions. Some sooner and some later. By the end of living, all answers will find their way to me, as I have been looking for them for too many years now. And as I leave behind the years, I am certain I understand myself better. I also become a better and quieter person each day.

One who will someday, take a deep breath, look outside the window and perhaps be able to let go. Who will love and live fuller than every known fullest, knowing it will hurt. One who will have peace within for keeps.

As Frida had said, “ I think that little by little I ‘ll be able to solve my problems and survive”.