Poetic Reflections: the root of all fear

Fear is a dreadful topic. Even for an author who occasionally dips her pen in the inky genre pool of Horror and Suspense. And yet it seems almost kismet that I should delve headfirst into the theme like a high-diver plummeting to a barrel of bubble bath, make that bubble-gum bath, for it is a gooey matter most personal.

I am seeking to craft a life raft of words that will assist those like myself who have grappled with some fear or another in the past, at present, or who may in the future need solace from a ticklish moment of trepidation; a surprise party of paralysis; a whole bucketload of tremblish toe-tangling Terror with a capital T.

Are ya still with me, or ducking below a convenient piece of furniture? In the closet? Behind a tree? This isn’t a game of Hide-And-Seek. Come out, come out, wherever you are!

Some of us were born anxious, but that doesn’t mean we can’t overcome our fears. And who isn’t slightly paranoid these days? You’d have to be nuts not to be!

Whether we admit it or not, we are all afraid now and again to whatever degree. Else there must be some particle amiss — some particular molecular hair gone astray. We are not being honest. Or we lack common sense. Perhaps our Fear Factor gear fell off . . . our Fight-Or-Flight mechanism flew the coop . . . our Panic Button short-circuited.

Perhaps, I hypothesize, our Peril Para-Meter was removed by mistake during surgery like an errant extra ingrown elbow! (Feel free to stop me at any time.)

Perhaps the thing we fear most is so abjectly frightening that we simply can’t confront our fears. Except in a funhouse mirror. And then we tend to shriek and scurry through a maze that isn’t much fun after all. We run away. Or we freeze where we stand like an icicle from the ground up.

What I’m trying to say, as ridiculously as possible, is that we react to our fears the way we’ve been programmed and conditioned to — with stretched-thin piano-wire nerves, a bass-drum-beaten heart — experiencing what we expect to experience.

No, no, that isn’t what I was trying to say. Where did that come from?

What I’m really endeavoring to say (ignore the above), is that Fear is nothing to be afraid of. In fact, it’s usually very silly so we should laugh at it. Ha ha ha! In falsetto for effect. We are often afraid for no logical reason — of a mere shadow, a needless worry, an imagined embarrassment. Sure, there are genuine things in the universe to inspire true dread. But not to live in fear of, because then we do not really live, we just die minute by minute like a half-empty glass. Or a half-full hourglass trickling with inevitable gravity toward the downside.

Yes, that sounds about right.

Not that I know what I’m talking about or anything. You’d think I would, being anxious most of my life, but I don’t. Not a bit.

Of course, that doesn’t prevent me from writing poems on the subject! Oh no, I write poems without any license whatsoever. With as little authority and consciousness as I can cram into each verse. That’s my style and I’m stickin’ to it! After all, it hasn’t worked for me quite well this far. And I am, if nothing else, a creature of habit. As are most of us fraidy-cat scaredy-kins! Or so I’ve heard. I could be wrong. I could be barking, or rather meowing, up the wrong tree. I like to do that sometimes. Especially when there’s a full moon. I can’t explain it. But I digress. I’d better get busy writing poems before I forget what I was talking about in the first place . . .