On the Edge of Adventure

Here on the edge of adventure, the world crumbles around me.  Or maybe I just see its constant state of movement as crumbling.  How is it, over and over again, that I can imagine my presence is necessary, required, to hold things together?  My soul knows better, knows that my infinite smallness and infinite importance don't change simply because I step up to the edge.  But my monkey mind doesn't know.  No matter how much assurance is given, no matter how many deep breaths I take, some part of me demands to make me a martyr.  The voices scream words like selfish and stupid.  The questions about worth, of the adventure and of my own dreams, ring loud.  Sacrifice yourself on this altar they demand.  Step back, step down, step away.  They won't make it without you.  You risk too much.   But in truth, I risk more by listening.  I risk everything.  I risk myself.  I risk them.  Because if I don't teach them courage, how will they ever learn?  If I don't trust them to live without me, how will they ever live?  If I don't follow my dreams, how will they ever dare to listen to their own?  The world crumbles and is reborn, in a never ending cycle.  How foolish of me to think I can stop the process by standing still.  Instead, I'll pick up a rock and put it in my pocket to carry with me, and I will bring a rock back, building up a marker that reminds us all to listen to the siren song that pulls us ever deeper into life and love.