Cowards run, forever in fear of death, of change, of pain, of any challenge that elicits questions about their purpose. The valiant, however, recognize that in order to truly live, they must die and be reborn.
My eyes crawl open, and I realize I’ve been here before. Lying on my left side, the matte of my congealed blood pooled on the stone, I remember my last visit. I’d dangled from a fraying thread, facing the inevitable, final crash once the string’s last grip gave way.
In the darkness, I could only feel the cold and jagged destination awaiting me, mocking me as I couldn’t distinguish my tears from my sweat as they streamed from my eyelids and over the bridge of my nose. It took longer than I thought.
Lying here, I am at once terrified of the echoes carrying my wails across the canyon, the only answers to my cries, and I am relieved. The thread I’d grasped for so long, my fear, was no more. All I’d been afraid of losing, of failing to be, was no more. Because of the fall, it will be some time before I can stand again, but I will stand knowing that the stone beneath my feet is not for me to hide my face. I had the courage to let go, to fall and bleed out, to be reborn. To Rise.