Fear is an ugly bedfellow. It snores noisily, won’t listen to pleas, expels other thoughts, leaves its victim grumpy, leery, weary at dawn. Even sedatives can’t thwart it, for it sneaks into dreams, donning tedious disguises. Medications can paralyze terrors temporarily, but what kind of life is that?

We all have fears. That comes of contemplating tomorrow. Tomorrow could be a good day – or awful. Focusing on risks isn’t crazy, but it’s upsetting. What if, what if, what if!

Some fear protects us; too much cripples. Mostly in my life I’ve had too little. Whatever the challenge, I’ve been confident to the point of overconfidence. Only sometimes thin ice cracks and you drown.

I am fearful now. Achingly. For America, freedom, civilization itself. The progress of mankind for the last six hundred years was propelled by the enlargement of human freedom. Give humans a chance and we can achieve great things – in thought, science, technology, art, self-governance, you name it. Deny humans freedom and we revert to mooing creatures en route to slaughter. Why think thoughts if you can’t express them? Why innovate if innovations are forbidden? Why try if a lash awaits your attempts?

Tyranny depends on the suppression of individuality. The ruler expects his subjects to support his plan. Dissension is disallowed. The genius of the United States has been the encouragement of difference. In the words of an old political slogan, “Every man a king.” Permission unleashed ambition. The Western World had been moving toward personal freedom prior to 1776, but our Declaration of Independence and Constitution proved amazing accelerants.

Now one of our two political parties pledges to replace democracy with tyranny: “strongman rule.” This is not a hypothetical: Trump promises it, and his behavior proves his sincerity. When he first ran for office, we might have argued, “It can’t happen here,” but no longer. Daily he displays his avidity for absolute power and describes what he would do with it. His people applaud and his pusillanimous party accedes to his demands.

I don’t believe Trump will win. I believe Americans, confronted with the prospect of enslavement, will vote “No Trump”, whoever is running against him. I’m counting on a big win November 5 for the forces of light.

That’s hope speaking. My hope enlists reason on its side. But reason is no match for fear. I fear for America as I feared for myself when I had cancer. My chances for recovery were OK – only I didn’t believe it. During the year from diagnosis till the end of treatment I existed hollowed by horror, forever saying goodbye.

I hate my fear. I tally what my brain could be doing unoccupied by Trump. Oh, for a sound night’s sleep! I do not, though, want to eject my fear or silence it. Averting one’s gaze, however tempting, may prove suicidal. Let me harness my fear so it hauls me willy-nilly where I hate to go. Let it make of this lazy guy a soldier, of this amiable guy a zealot, of this lover a hater – till the peril’s past or the battle lost.

“Do the thing you fear,” said Emerson, “and the death of fear is certain.” That’s overoptimistic. Yes, doing feels better than fretting, in action we may forget our dread, but I cherish fear as my protector. Though its vehemence may exaggerate, better safe than sorry.

Fear is not a sickness to cure, but a teacher to heed. Those who profess themselves unspooked by America’s direction aren’t paying attention. We must listen to our fear. “Where your fear is, there is your task,” said Jung.