He always said, I am afraid, I am afraid, but that was not
the whole story. He was afraid, its
true, he was afraid of everything, he was always afraid – except when he was
not afraid at all, and then he was not afraid of anything. He was pathologically brave.
It didn’t happen very often.
But even to be pathologically brave for thirty minutes could have
far-reaching effects. Especially since
that brave person plotted while it lurked in the background and sprang up
prepared to book flight tickets, interviews, or liaisons.
The brave person made decisions and left the fearful person
to carry them out. It was sadistic
really. The poor fearful person spent
his life running errands for the brave person, who always had some sort of scheme.
The fearful person wanted only to stay
home, with the door locked, but the brave person sent him, trembling, all over the
world.
Sometimes people became so confused that they said to him,
in all seriousness, you are brave. He wanted to say, No, I am afraid, I am the
slave of a brave person. He wanted to
tell them this, but he was afraid.
(09.29.12, Trivandrum
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