Wednesday, April 19, 2006


The following anaecdote is extracted from one of the novels I readmore than 10 years ago. Simple but very inspiring to me:


... "my father used to tell me a story", she said, smiling as she satup and wrapped her arms around her legs. "I remember the first timehe told it - I must have been about five at the time - and in themiddle of the night I woke up from a nightmare with my heart poundinglike if wanted to get out of my chest. I ran down the hall to myparents' bedroom." She laughed.

"Oh, how I begged to sleep with them. Just this one time, I said.But my father wouldn't let me. He sat on the side of the bed with meon his lap, and he made me tell him all about the dream. It was fullof shadows and robbers and dragons that especially like to eat five-years-old girls"...

when I finished, he told me a story about a little girlwho wasafraid. Not just of dragons but of everything. She hid in a boxbecause inside she felt safe; she had definite boundaries, and shecould see into every corner. Nothing could get her there... at theage of five that didn't sound so bad. But then he started to tell mewhat else couldn't get into the box. things like laughter andsunshine and love. Nothing new and exciting could happen becausenothing could get in. Then he told me something I'll never forget.He said, "Amanda, nothing in the would is as bad as being afraid - nodragons, no monsters, no shadows. You've got to turn on whatfrightens you. That way you control the fear instead of letting itcontrol you. Confront the dragon, baby. Always CONFRONT THE DRAGON".

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