Vachon Imagined

Fear is the reaction to life itself, no matter the form it takes.

Something arises within you.

You call something forward.

Creation begins to take shape.

And then, suddenly, you fear what you have created.

You fear the very life that moved through you.

Imagine, for example, that you carry a prejudice against arrogance, cruelty, or anger.

Someone enters your life and awakens those feelings within you.

You feel threatened.

You feel disturbed.

You feel something in yourself that you do not want to see.

And so the person becomes the problem.

They are judged.

Rejected.

Shunned.

Crucified.

But what if it was never only about them?

What if what you were responding to was life being reflected back to you?

What if the thing you believed you were fighting outside yourself was something you had not yet made peace with within yourself?

This does not mean harm does not exist.

It does not mean boundaries are unnecessary.

It means there is a difference between seeing clearly and reacting blindly.

When you are no longer afraid of yourself, you can stand while life happens.

You can witness.

You can remain present.

This is why solitude matters.

Not as isolation, but as practice.

Alone, you learn to observe your own reactions.

You notice what rises.

You notice what falls.

You learn the movement of your own life.

What comes up and what comes down is life.

Your interpretation is also part of life.

And where these two meet—the experience itself and the meaning we create from it—is where transformation begins.

That meeting place is resurrection.

The crossing over.

The moment when what you feared, what you rejected, and what you held in judgment becomes something you can finally stand with.

Not because it disappeared.

Because you no longer need to run from it.

You become capable of witnessing the fullness of life.

Including yourself.