This, too, shall pass

If I pause and step outside myself during a moment of trial, I can be a watchtower during the hardest hour. No demon of night can bully me in the dark nor blindingly pierce the eye of my soul with an arrow of deceit shot from the bow of disappointment. I will remember that the heart is strong, but by night it is too weary to carry armor (and other times too stubborn to be covered), so it is susceptible to invisible strikes at its nakedness just as it is sensitive to the sustenance of the sun whose beaming rays touch like sweet, sympathetic songs. Mind's sight is disadvantaged when challenged face to face with the monster that waited for the day to pass to meet you, but when elevated above the haunting sight-line of these demons, it sees the truth: these battles are only with distorted shapes of the imagination that merely taunt with whispers in the wind. So, climb on up the watchtower and see that you are not inevitably cornered but merely targeted by illusions of darkness whose power is still potent but ultimately resistible. With patient prudence and endurance, your soul can remain vigil atop the watchtower knowing that its foundation can suffer the torments of these apparitions. As real as they may appear, you will see, whether you like it or not, that you are only playing with shadows summoned by solitude.