Talking about climbing a mountain while climbing a mountain is one of the most difficult, dare to say, impossible, tasks I can imagine. Yet, when writing, whether fiction or non-fiction, it is a battle re-purposing your feelings, thoughts, predispositions, all that is you, essentially. The task of turning your day, your life, as much as you can recall and place value upon, into perspective, to be interpreted and ingested, is a tough one. Now add the burden of expectation to that. You gamble with the possibilities and consequences of offering another road to the path towards understanding self as fully as possible in this realm. Providing the tools for others on the way to self-discovery, subsequently world harmony, through perspective is not an easy chore; especially when you’re an expressive soul who’s prone to self-sabotage out of fear of that untrodden terrain (self).
So how do you remove yourself from fear of growth? Self-discovery?
Remove your expectations.
Easier said than done. I’m ascending the incline as I write this with the wind pulling me to the peak, my feet planted in the crevices of the rocks, I’m climbing.
I could fall, but I don’t see it.The peak is my goal
I hear the raging river below me
Waters crashing, lulling my weary heart to rest
It doesn’t dare skip a beat
Blood pulsing, rushing to my feet
Once planted in stone
Toes, ice cold to the touch
Knocking the rocks into dust
As I climb the beast that entombed my spirit
Getting over me
And getting closer