The path to greatness is not paved in certainty.
It is carved blind,
with trembling hands,
in lands no map dares name.
Those who know every step before they walk it
never leave the shore.
They build cities of safety,
walls of plans,
fortresses of predictability
but greatness does not live there.
Greatness calls from the mist,
from the cliff’s edge,
from the thunder where reason ends.
It demands you walk where the ground has not yet formed,
to plant your flag in soil that may not hold you.
It demands you lose sight of the horizon
and find faith in the rising of your own breath.
Certainty is a warm bed,
a closed door,
a soft forgetting.
Uncertainty
uncertainty is the wild drum
beating in the bones of the ones who dare.
Those on the path feel the tremor of every step.
They doubt.
They fear.
They fall.
But they rise with eyes ablaze,
because they know:
To stand still is death.
To calculate is to shrink.
To step into the unknown
again, and again, and again
is the only way
the impossible is born.
You are not called to walk where others have walked.
You are called to forge where none have dared.
So go
go into the fog,
into the roar,
into the unbearable open sky.
Greatness waits there,
just beyond what you think you can survive.
And you
you were made for this.