Fools Rush In
Though I see
The danger there
If there's a chance for me
Then I don't care
The monster is at the top of the stairs.
At the top? I thought you said…
It is in the catacomb, yes. But the stairway doesn’t go down. It goes up. It goes up in both directions. On the way there, and, if you’re lucky, on the way back.
Up in both…?
You’re not listening to…alright…how do I…when you walk down stairs, you don’t really look at them, right? You sense them rising behind you, I suppose, sort of looking over your shoulder. But you don’t see them. Not really. Maybe you see the underside of another stair above you, but not the stairs themselves. Not when you’re going down. Now, imagine that in complete darkness. You walk with no view at all, stairs beneath your feet, and simply know that you are walking down.
Walking down…?
For a time, yes. Long enough for you to get comfortable. Distracted. Soon enough you’ll find that you are walking up, with the stairs rising in front of you. The first time I noticed, I thought I was lost. I thought I had turned myself around and was walking back up toward the entrance. Not an easy thing to do, even in darkness, but there was no denying that I was rising. I stopped, shook my head for a fool, turned around, and once again descended toward what I thought was the catacomb.
So the stairs do go down…
No. No. That stairway does not go down. It goes up.
After just enough steps to get comfortable, I found that I was rising again. I tried to envision the steps before and behind me. Imagined some sort of rising and falling stairs, maze like, splitting off into different directions, unseen in the dark. Something that would make more sense if I could only see it.
Methodically, I turned myself about once more, this time counting the stairs as I descended. One, two, three…by fifteen I realized I had lost track of my direction and had once again been rising. This time, I persevered. I continued in my upward direction, still counting, assuming that I would soon enough either begin to descend in earnest, or find myself at the top, at the entrance where I had begun.
You counted…
I counted. I counted. Two hundred fourteen steps I counted, and no sign of descending. I was lost, tired, confused, and on the edge of despair without ever losing my count. I had risen over ten stories, far more than I had descended at any point since entering that cursed place.
Ten stories…
Two hundred fourteen steps. After that, I gave up. I turned back, determined to count my way down to zero as I descended, at least get back to where I had started counting. Two hundred thirteen, two hundred twelve, two hundred ten. Yet…
Yet…?
Yet, somewhere around two hundred four, I realized that I had been rising once again.
You…
Some stairs only go up.
And the monster is…?
At the top of the stairs. Yes.
And you can…
Yes. Yes. But slowly. The way you might approach a wasp. Or perhaps wasp isn’t quite…no…it is much larger, but in spirit, the monster is much like a wasp. You must show it that you are not aggressive, though also not afraid. The monster has a terrific sense for fear.
How does one…?
I suppose it is individual. To the person. Or creature perhaps. In my case I had to…you see…well…it’s not easy to…you see a person…we all…
It’s alright. We’re safe here. Just take your time.
We are safe nowhere.
Just take your time.
Many of us are good at naming our fears. We have words for them. Metaphors for them. They are difficult to name, but they are nameable. Anxiety comes in many forms, but we can…like being afraid of people. Of being watched. Stage fright, perhaps. That’s one. It’s fairly common. I had it. Many others do as well. But walking up to the monster and saying, I have this fear of people, this performance anxiety, would mean nothing. The monster would see right through it. Such words would only anger it. It would tear you apart from the inside out.
But you said…
I said the monster feeds on your fear. Not your fears. Your fear.
I did not really fear performing for people. I feared something else, something that performing before people brought out. Something unnamable. Were you to approach the monster with a fear of heights, for example, and confess such a fear, face that fear as you stood before it, the monster would raise its brow. Smile perhaps. Laugh. Then it would make you feel the real fear, the terror that standing at great heights brings about. Feel it so deep you would never rise again.
Then how do you…?
You must accept fear. You must approach the monster with the humility that can only come with knowing fear. Not knowing your fears. Not facing them. Not admitting to your fear of spiders or of rejection. You must recognize, know the fear that lies behind them. The true fear. The beast within. You cannot offer a sacrifice until you hold it in your hand. Until it is yours to bestow. You must know fear, accept fear. Only then can you approach the monster.
And it will cleanse you?
…
But you said…
…
Surely there must be some…
I said it will set you free. And it will. The monster will set you free. Free from your fears. Free from the protective layer that your fears provide. The fragile shell that keeps you from something…far worse. It is true that you will never fear another thing. You will see through such charades as gimmicks, cons meant to temper your actions. Your foolishness. For fears are like pain. We all desire to live without pain, but pain is a powerful tool. Without it, we cannot assess our own damage. Without your fears…
And you have done this?
I have done this. I laugh at you. At the world. At fools that fear snakes and sunburn and sex. Who fear dirt and damage, and yes, even pain. I look upon you as a parent looks upon her child, with compassion, yes, but also hubris and pity. For I have seen what you cannot imagine.
And you fear nothing?
I fear…everything.