Courage comes up from the deepest depths of my soul. It is something I do not need often, so when I do, it feels foreign, hidden. I can’t remember where I put it, or how it feels to use it. I spend a lot of time resisting the action that requires it, because in darkness, I doubt I have enough.
Courage is not entirely my own. I own the seeds, and breathe life into it, but it gains strength from the eye-light donated by friends.
Courage comes at a time when no evidence gives me cause to believe, and no map directs my steps. I curl my toes into new earth, I turn to face a new will, I move from the call of an unheard of wind. Courage gives me weight and vision from inside a black out dust storm that I have conjured.
And so my old friend, though you are always there, it is only a few times in my life that I need you to stand tall inside me and flood my arms and legs and voice with the richest blood from my heart.
I need you now. It has been years. Please come up and fill the space between the comfortable old and unlit new. I will look for the gazes that feed you, I will breathe full and pound my heart, and you will clarify my reflection in the mirror.