This fear, this lion, was something I had to face. So I walked with confidence and reliance on my ability to enclose myself with brick. Oh, you know the travesties of one who has far too much emotion--but not I, the solid, the brick, the wall, the red flag woman. I feel only what I choose. I am in control.
If only such a thing were true. But no, I am the paux de doux with a smile like a china doll. I am joyful, but I am porcelain. I am solid, but I am glass. I am that wall as long as it is not that fear that makes my walls incinerate on contact. (That fear, that lion, was the thing I loved most in the world. That dance, that song, that structure, that comfort... that death of self, the death of it, the death of a love that was never meant to last.)
But Oh, I faced it, and I stared it down.
That lion and I shared smiles about how I could not tame it. I am no circus keeper you know. That lion is wild and free, and his mate, my fear, is lovely.
The lion belongs in Africa, in some exotic and beautiful land. Oh my fear is beautiful, and I love the thrill of the chase. But she, my fear, is graceful next to the lion of Africa--and they together are a pair of paradise.
So I stand knowing I faced and smiled at that lion like a porcelain doll, and my fear and I shook hands and danced in a crowd of familiar and strange faces. But I relent the chase. For the Lion is in the beautiful lands of the exotic and new, but I am just in California, and I wear the feather's of the birds he likes to eat.
So I relent; especially on the outside.
Roam, lion. Roam free.