The Liturgy of Fear

They say that war never changes.
And they're right.
They say that people never change.
And, for the most of it,
They are, indeed, right.

Eventually, every person finds it:
The apex, the moment where it all connects.
Your fears face you, pinning you to the ground.
They mock you, they hurt you, they torture you.
They keep doing it until there is nothing else to do.

It is only at this moment that you can change.
You have no choice in the matter, after all.
It's only a matter of who prevails:
You, fearless;
Or you, broken by your fears, broken for life.

It seems so odd that so many of us can't run from this.
However, there are others.
Others that face their fears on their own terms.
They, hunters and warriors as they are,
Choose the hunting ground, the arena.

They face their fears bare-chested and unarmed,
They face their fears with rage,
They face their fears with love.
They know they have nothing to lose.
They know they can only win.

In the end, the difference between these people
Is fundamentally simple:
Most people run and cower instead of fighting.
Most other people run and fight anything else.
Only a handful fight their true enemy, after all.

Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little death that brings obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will allow my fear to pass through me.
I will allow my fear to pass over me.

When it has passed,
I will turn my gaze to it's path.
Where it has gone,
There will be nothing left.
Only I will remain.