a poem by Amy Lynn Hardy
because, without a care in the world, he sets out on an adventure that promises to bear no fruits, daring us to follow suit in our own lives
because the Tarot shows us The Fool’s journey, which is just another name for life in the Major Arcana, and The Fool is both the beginning and the end, the snake eating its tail, the wheel of karma, the never-ending story
because jaws of mortality nibble at our bony ankles and set motion to things we cannot quite define, to existential thirsts and longings for places we’ve never been and sometimes there is a sacred knowing that we must go
because maybe if he looked down, The Fool would falter and cling to the edge of his old life, using every ounce of grip strength to return to what calls itself “safe”
because jagged-edged cliffs only become dangerous when looked down upon in terror, with eyes wide shut listening to fables others have recounted about the perils of the descent
because the unknown feels too expansive and letting go feels too peaceful and alchemy feels too improbable when the precipice sits miles and miles away
because walking away despite their warnings is big; playing small is no longer The Fool’s game, and falling and failing and flying are sisters who ignite flames and birth heroes who save themselves
because that journey to the edge is risky and full of melancholy and fallen branches and stones and other people’s bad advice
because leaping is the only thing when your back is pressed against the wall, bleeding from all the times you’ve stabbed yourself, crying bitterly and hoping for change
because as you plunge, all you can do is smile into the unknown, like The Fool, surrendering and falling, surrendering and flying, surrendering and maybe failing, but still charging forward on your expedition because you know daring greatly takes everything you’ve got and that infinity still has never been defined
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