My son is such an inspiration for me.  He is practically fearless.  It doesn't matter how many times he falls, he loves to climb.  He would stand on the back of the couch to look out the window before he could walk.  He climbs chairs, tables, his crib, anything he can hoist himself up on. He grins from ear to ear when he conquers a new piece of furniture.  I watch in wonder as he climbs up, up, up, and it makes me ponder the fear I feel as I watch him.

As we age, we develop more and more fear.  It's a response to the pain we have felt.  We understand consequences, we know how much the fall can hurt, and we stop ourselves from taking risks if we think the reward isn't great enough.  We trap ourselves in jobs, relationships, homes that we don't like because we are too afraid to step into the unknown.

As I have gotten further along in my spiritual path, I have begun to recognize the different kinds of fear I feel.  There's the fear of emotional pain, fear of physical pain, fear of someone I care about getting hurt, fear of failure--all with their own physical, emotional and mental manifestations in my body.  I feel it in my stomach, my chest, my throat, my hands and feet.  I sometimes watch as my logical brain clouds and my emotion takes over, like the day a man held a gun up to me as he robbed my family of our savings.  I sometimes feel my jaw set and my body go rigid, like the day my boyfriend gave me a black eye.  I sometimes bite my tongue to keep from saying what I feel because I'm so afraid of what the person I'm talking to will think, chewing my tongue and cheek and lip until it bleeds.

But in the last week, I feel like I have crossed a threshold, because I've discovered a new kind of fear.  A fear that outweighs all others, one that is so strong and deep-set that I've surprised myself.  I'm afraid of living against my truth.  I'm afraid of continuing to bite my tongue, of staying stagnant in a place that is comfortable but limiting.  I'm afraid of the example it sets for my son.  I'm afraid of the precedent it sets in my relationship.  I'm afraid of not taking the risk, of not stepping into my power by following the path Spirit is calling me to.

I'm afraid of letting the gifts Goddess has given me die on the vine.

I have been given an opportunity that isn't given to many.  I have come up out of what many in my family feared was an inescapable black hole of self-destruction by discovering yoga.  I have furthered my growth with small choices and large ones.  I have felt utterly helpless and incredibly powerful.  I have birthed and allowed death, both literal and metaphorical.

Over the next few weeks, I'll be giving birth again.

I'll be birthing myself, a stronger, smarter, more powerful version of myself.

And as anyone who has watched or given birth knows, there's a fair amount of fear (and blood, sweat and tears) that goes along with it.  Our society loves to medicate that fear.  We have enough anxiety medication running through our water to tranquilize a small child.  We pump birthing women full of numbing medication so they can't feel what's happening to their body, thinking this is the way to help them -- a solution invented by well-intentioned but frightened men.  What we have forgotten is that fear is an opportunity to exercise trust, to exercise courage.

An opportunity to make a choice, like we do on our mats, to come back to our practice.

Because life is spiritual practice.  It's constantly giving us opportunities to trust in Spirit's plan.  Opportunities to be brave, in the face of fear.  To open our hearts instead of closing them and to experience joy in the midst of sadness.

So the next time you find yourself in the midst of fear, open your heart to trust.  Remember that you are a child of the Great Mother/Father.  Remember your place here, as a spiritual being.

Allow.  And you will be blessed.