I Must not Fear

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

Maybe it started last night when I was listening to trumpet player Chris Botti...maybe. Shrug. I was checkin' out some really cool funk bass lines on youtube earlier today. That led to a bunch of music clips. I watched them and they were sssssooo friggin' good. I know how they got that way. I know because I didn't. Practice.

Did I ever tell you I used to play a guitar...and a trumpet and Sax and...

My trumpet teacher, Craig Blume looked at me once and said-you know some day you are just going to decide to be a great trumpet player. It won't have anything to do with what I did or didn't teach you. Your just gonna decide to be great at this and then you will be.

I don't need to tell you I didn't. With the trumpet or guitar or any of it. I looked at the people I thought really kicked ass (I very likely mentioned this before but-shrug) and I thought I could practice until my fingers bleed put on band aids and play till I bleed through them and I won't be THAT good and THAT good is the only goal that matters.

I never felt that way about writing. I've seen some awesome writing. In the truest sense of the word. Writing that genuinely filled me with awe. I never once thought I couldn't do that. IF...I get off my ass and decide to. I know exactly how to do it too. WRITE. Write until your fingers bleed, band aids, keep writing, write until your heart and mind and soul explode a volcano gushing fire blood onto the pages filling them with...magic. It really is that simple. Just decide to.

I was writing will in the mid 90's. A piece called Angel of Darkness. I stuck it in my friend Tracy's BBQ grill and set it on fire. I tried to kill that part of me. The truth is I haven't stopped killing it. I'm just doing it a different way, every day I don't wake up and decide to write. I can make a billion trillion excuses but they're all bull shit. It simple, I decide to do it or I don't. Why I don't...I wish I knew. There has only ever been one thing standing in my way-ME. And now I'm afraid. Afraid I don't know how the get the hell out of my own way and just do it. The fear is killing. Everything I can be, should be, locked away in a box with no lock, a box I can open any time I want to, anytime I decide to.

Standing alone of the razors edge, feet dripping precious blood, the past on one side my future on the other. The ultimate cliff hanger and even though I have the remote control in the tips off my fingers I stare at a blank white page and I have no idea what happens next. I'm swaying, the winds are picking up I can feel the razor scrapping bone. It won't be long now. Decide or the winds and the pain and that cold hard razor will decide for me. Tic tock tic tock...the screen fades to black and you can hear him fall, but which way? The wind feels so cold in the darkness. And then...