I remember being afraid of the dark. 
I was afraid of being alone. I was afraid of the water, the sharks, the depth and sliminess. I remember lying in my bed, scared of my dreams, scared of what was to come, scared of things on my little body, scared I would die of something too young. 
I checked for early signs of a heart attack. I ran from wasps. I hid in tiny places I was afraid of. I didn’t want to be alone. I’m still afraid of that. And all of the other things too.
I’m older, not wiser, afraid as ever. I want to get out of that. I want to find myself, some truth, something that will make me the notion I hold inside or holds me. 
It’s a funny thing, this interior battle, wanting to be another, wiser, braver me. I play that game. And then I pretend that I don’t. I’m better than that. I’m okay with who I am. That’s what I say to myself. That’s my little self con. 
And I beat myself up and stay hiding, almost believing in my dreams, myself, but more than that, stay that kid screaming inside.
word. how does one ever obliterate one’s pagan responsibility to only oneself? the inner voice is always there reminding us that..this is me, being me, being in the world, struggling to succeed, or simply exist. to kill that voice, would it not reduce us to animals? and then again, would that be such a reduction? what would our world look like without that nattering ego on and on at us, every moment of every day and night… though dreaming, as long as not lucidly, you can fall away into the landscape. see yourself, not be yourself. ever tried DMT? x
The reduction, yes. The DMT, no.