how Fear taught one to be unafraid

Conciousness is like a strange endeavor sometimes. I wake up and come into myself like a half-made butterfly newly entering its cocoon. I have slumbered 'till now. It is backwards and I am prone to a certain hysteria: jolt-upright, I do not know how I got here, and where I came from seems like a brilliant place, but I obviously do not want to leave here. Fright pulses through with a static-electric-surge way about it and it is all I can do to remember that I have a name, for I feel like I am losing my mind, like the moorings are strands of ragged rope that may even be illusory. I am holding on though my mind is erased. Cursing, I am jolt-upright. I do not understand how it can be, but in a moment afterward, I feel as though, rush-current and tingle inside every atom, I've seen something. I do not know quite what it was other than a stirring inside the universe, a life inside the unknown. But it is something.

*

Illusions seem to come in layered webbing, like conciousness. The illusions are dear friends of mine, and I know not what I speak. It is lovable and holy and impossible, like fairies and ghosts, which seem more real to me than matter. I know not impossibility, though I have made a foolish dancing-partner of doubt, and held it close although we danced in floating halls with life a-tremble and all blooming inside. I dreamt I dwelt in halls of doubtful sacrilege, and I awoke in fear of being alive. But then the fear somehow made me alive, for I no longer, for an instant, tarried in doubt but rather I came to embrace impossible things and the circle of reality turned roundabout reflected, and I knew then what I felt, and knew that it was as real and true as a raven's dreams are.