A Fork on the Trail.

For all that I seem to experience as rejection and failure offers me but two paths; a fork on the trail.

My mind pulls me down the path of self-doubt, of my own demons; it is the shadow path, and it lays its seed on the soil of fear.

The other path, uphill; my mind attempts to avoid. And though it is surely a storm to enter, within that storm I sense a deep sea of love; beyond those ominous showers. It is in the very face of fear that one must walk on this path; he must navigate into deep fog, with the light of his own blazing heart.

It seems that the path will diverge like this treacherously for days on end; weeks; months; the path will test me, it will storm, sleet, shower. The path tests my courage; my courage to walk the higher path — the harder path. And thus, as I face the storms of this path at every fork; and there are surely many, I seem to rise — slowly, slowly, above all that before I could not before see.

I rise deeper into love; though fear continues to tempt me, it is a test, a process — it is my process.

They say the darkest hours comes before dawn. I don’t know who, but this I know to be true in my own life.

As the storm weathers on, we learn to embrace the sleeting torment; for, though we could turn back at any minute, and take the route more often travelled — we are adventurers, and we risk the blackest nights in order to discover the purest light of day.

Axle.