The question was posed. “What are you afraid of?”  As in, what am I afraid would happen if I was stripped of all my pretense and all my walls, and all my bullshit?  I would be exposed. Naked. Unsure of who or what I am. I’ve been running for so long I have no idea what it means to rest. What it means to sit alone with myself and actually find one little bit of information about who I am.OK. That’s not totally true.. I have an inkling….  but still I run. Like a dog in the desert. Parched, starving, bones exposed, still running toward a non-existent horizon. Because I am afraid. If I stop, I will have to feel. The pads of my paws are raw. I have many scars. I’ve run through rivers, valleys, barbed wire fences, over ragged hills, past the blazing fires on the side of the road. Shotguns roaring in my ears. My legs buckle, my lungs collapse. I am sprawled on the side of the road panting and desperate for air. But here I am. And the sun is rising. Hot. Unrelenting. I gather my strength and pull myself up. One more dash for home. A home I have to build from the ground up with the last ounce of resolve that remains. Digging, clawing at the ground. No longer able to run. Clawing back to the embryonic state of unlearning all I have learned. Blank. Fresh. Searching for a bit of water and a respite from the sun.  When will it begin? Now? Seems like a good time.