colour me fearful

If Fear was a colour, it would be burnt sienna, intermixed with secondary tones of mud khaki and a pinch of canary chucked in for good measure. It would be muddy.

I don’t mean it in a bad way. It’s not the type of mud your foot gets sucked into while hiking up sunken rice fields. Neither a mud bath, drawing impurities out from your pores, leaving it baby bum smooth and glowing you’ve just sculled some sparkly fluid (well, isn’t that what advertising tells us how we’re ‘supposed’ to feel?)

Fear is murky. The same way mud is made of the earth, scientific-molecules- I can’t- quite -name, volcano ash, parts of Saturn, the shine of stars, pony’s breakfast…Name it, and there you’d probably find a tiny fraction of it’s internal structure, within. We aren’t able to notice any of these individual components without picking it apart – like meat off it’s bone. fiber by fiber, carefully inspecting a thread woven into another stitch.

What conditions us to feel so susceptible to our fears, and how do we develop these responses to begin with? Is it even conceivable for a living being to exist outside the basis of Fear entering their consciousness? What determines the cause of a particular fear within us, and why do some last an eternity, while others – brief and fleeting?


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