And yet that’s something that we try so hard to push aside – all the while ignoring how this fact is often the wellspring our of actions.


    After all, if we were to accept that it’s impossible to win at a race that we will all surely loose, then why would we trample over others to attain things that can’t be kept, and for prizes that can’t be won?

    Why would we come at the world as an opponent, and barter its destruction as a cost of our placement?



    Fear is what we call the realisation that the game is slipping away from us. That for all of our striving, our clawing and our fighting, the tide is ebbing, and that our chances, which were once so resplendent, might slip through our fingers.



    It can’t be our dying, because that’s going to happen, come what may.

    And it can’t be our changing, because change is unceasing.

    It is our preservation of the illusion that we are the centre of it all – that everything rotates around us: that we are the most unique, and infinitely precious sun in the all encompassing darkness.



    When we give up on a larger perspective and our interests constrict, we welcome fear. When we jettison others, the stars retreat and the coldness grows. We become attuned to fear’s ever loving companionship, and we become anaesthetised by its compelling gravity.



    Respite from fear – fear for ourselves, fear of others – allows us to act with clarity and equanimity. It allows us to find meaning in our scattered days. It allows us to accept the race for what it is, for us to turn outwards, for us to feel the warmth of other suns.