Tiptoeing

Something else is asking me the question I so recently was posing. It's a bit strange, the reversal, but it's pretty routine at this point.

"Why are you so afraid of me? Is it because I make you feel?"

And I was lounging on my couch cradling my cat, thinking about all the things I don't know, and how many of them I keep trying to touch. It's like this whole foreign sector of life and experience is a sparkling inferno, daring me to reach into it and integrate with it. I want to. Every fibre of my being is pulling and pushing me towards it. My heart is made of it and wants to be reunited with the whole, and it murmurs to me like an old friend. I've known it before. I've caught glimpses of it in this life and had conversations and intimate dinner parties with it in past ones.

But such fear is being dredged up in me. And why? Because I want, now? Because I can foresee possibilities that I'm not sure I'm ready for? I feel so vulnerable and unprepared, wanting something so badly, not being able to get it off my mind, and simultaneously fearing it.

When I'm brought back to the "now", whenever that is, I am reminded that the inferno should be distant.
If that's so, then why do I feel it's heat on my back?