“I’m an old man now. I’ve lived a long and difficult life
filled with so many misfortunes,
most of which never happened.”
~ Mark Twain
Tears flow effortlessly these days;
saturate a disconsolate heart.
pining for the lazy moon,
drenched in monsoons of loss.
A toxic phrase with no exit strategy,
the consummate axiom of self sabotage;
only hypothetical possibilities,
mostly predicated on the unknown,
conspicuous in its absence
removed from this moment,
Life is not getting the perfect hand
The opposite of love is not hate,
fear paralyses loveit closes,
if we let it,
whereas love, yes love, opens the door
Copyright © Henri Ferguson 2016
We invest endless, futile energy into speculating about what the future may hold for us, all the while spiraling downward into a vicious vortex of fear. Invariably we fall prey to the perceptual narrowing that prevents us from seeing the exit door in front of us in the proverbial house on fire. It is precisely at these moments that our angels step in to guide us across the threshold to love, where rubber meets the road, and we find traction to move. Once again behind the wheel, in our movement forward we finally understand with clarity that fear is a liar.