The Fear of Self

I think about the caves with the mysterious green pools, the dangling measures of sharpness, the hours of blackness, the minutes of light, the echos. And I think about the mouths with the glue-esque saliva, the clattering teeth, the partial vacuity, the lack of visibility, the evil utterances. Caves are mouths of outward nature and mouths are caves of outward human identity. Outward nature and outward human identity seem to place me in a position where I must become an archaeologist of consciousness. In the cave of outward nature, the dominance topples over me. Bats flying over head, cutting my ankles on the stone, my body becoming colder as the mist surrounds, the helplessness of being held inside. My intentions become meaningless. No motion on my behalf can overcome the dominance - there is no ability that is of help. With my recognition toward the cave of outward identity, I scramble to chisel all of the evil out and hide the scraps by burying them under the saliva. My regrets echo while my redemption makes no sound. My identity as a human is plagued by intentional motion - my ability is of bad meaning. Whether I am under the control of the mouth of outward nature or controlling the cave of my outward human identity, the fear of self becomes present in both situations. I either become fearful because of my lack of ability or I become fearful because of my ability. It is the same end with differing means.