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I want to be courageous enough not to know.

To stand in the moving fog, watching it swirl and change and not know what is hidden there. Unsure about what is solid and what is not.

If I am truly brave I could stop peering and trying to redefine the shadows. I could take a breath and just close my eyes. Feel my heart beat. Alive and flowing with apprehension. And step toward you anyway.

It is dark and I do not know. I start stepping, but my courage will only come in brief waves. I am waiting for the stumble. For the sudden collapsing of limbs and heart and hope. Take another slow, carefully measured step. I do not know where.

Walking_into_the_Fog_by_Zombie_Pip[1]

The courage is not in the not knowing. The courage is in the trusting.  Aware that, if the stumble occurs, my body will fold gently under me, caressing me into a crumble. Supported in my awkward heap, I will hold myself and be safe.

And if there is no stumble, and the fog slowly lifts and your truth stands brightly lit? Then there will be so much more than safety to celebrate.

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