The old fears rear their ugly heads once more, I think that they never left as much as I chose to ignore them—“There are no monsters under my bed, there are no monsters under my bed, there are no monsters under my bed.” I chanted with the bed covers cocooning me tightly, a fabric womb to shield me from all evils.
Once asleep the days events replayed in my head (in vivid 1080 P ) shadow plays, the imagination trying to make sense of the adult world—“they want to kill us with nuclear bombs, bad men everywhere, crazy people who would delight in setting my world alight”, what a terrifying thing for a child to face nightly. As adults we face monsters daily, real flesh and blood fiends, ideological, financially, most of the monsters remain thin smoke emanating from censers, the manifestation of personal failings, unmet responsibilities, fortunes not made.
But somewhere the old fears live, murmurs getting louder— so maybe tonight I will chant once again “There are no monsters under my bed, there are no monsters under my bed, there are no monsters under my bed.”
How I wish I could vanquish all the monsters.