The Fear Within

Nobody truly likes to be at the top of the mountain at night by themselves. Perhaps it’s a primal thing such as the natural discomfort about snakes, about what lurks below as when we swim, what’s at the end of the cave.

Yet, when there by oneself, the noise is replaced by a different noise. And you find yourself looking only at yourself, not how you appear, not how you’re seen, but how you see yourself. All this other outside noise that you deal with on a daily basis has no bearing.

On the mountain, in the night, so remote, there is only you and other species. Therefore there is only looking inside of yourself—feeling yourself, thinking, not thinking about noise, but thinking about existence. For in this moment you are in the heart of existence.

And it’s frightening, not because of what lurks, what hunts, but because of what it is that is you. This scares people more than anything: having to face themselves, truly, without nonsense, without bullshit.

And in that moment all you want to do is run, disappear, scream, freak out, because it’s so epic, so deep that you feel you cannot handle it.

And then once you’re back at home, in the comfort, in the noise, you are the one who knows the mountain. You can share about the things you saw but never what you felt, never what you are. But the mountain has a hold of you. It is part of you. And you’ll be back.