We are afraid of risks, the ones we sense are akin to falling into an abyss whose bottom is too far below us to be seen. We fear that deep chasm, that crevasse with no visible floor. Our imaginations conjure images of ravenous creatures with teeth like razors, prowling among outcroppings of sharp rocks, just waiting for us to slip into a gap between slippery ledges. If we fall, our fantasies tell us, our bodies will be ripped to pieces by demons too fierce to fight, too powerful to overcome. So we shiver in fright, clinging to thorns that pierce our hands, leaving us bloody and throbbing in pain, never daring to risk a misstep from a precarious ledge.
But the others, those who embrace the possibilities resting just beyond the risks, attain freedom. Their scars confirm that wounds sometimes heal. And even when they don’t, the pain recedes over time.
