The blustere of a squall is a tempestuous rendition of the essence of life itself and no one can escape this concrete reality. One can attempt to redefine that physiology and psychology of the life experience but one can never claim that the whole journey is not turbulent.
In the big picture and over the expanse of the experience of existence, it comes into focus readily and soon that the heaviest of circumstances are no more than a delicate, carefully-measured dance of an illusory weight because, in all reality, those circumstances, regardless of their apparent massive nature sooner or later fly into the sunset like the downy fluff of a dying dandelion.
There is no need then for phobias of any kind.
I have never understood the appetite that demands phobias as part of the life-journey repast.
The under nourished life is a susceptible life but in the midst of all the available riches of the world — the riches in material wealth — it is incomprehensible to me that such a thing as an under nourished life could ever exist except for the possibility that 99 per cent of humanity os self-absorbed and selfish. I have often wondered what the psychology of mass selfishness can be.
Yet, when you think about it, the very ponderousness of the world-wide deprivation we always read about is still no more or less than one of those massive weights that ebb and flow in the currents of the commonality of humanity. The problem is never cemented concretely and permanently in one sphere or another but seems to traverse the planet like a slow-moving storm … first here and then there … first extant and then gone for a while. It is an enigma to be sure.
I can never tell if the mosquito-like tendency of circumstance is a good thing or a bad thing … how everything appears, seemingly out of nowhere, lands for awhile …. rewards some, bites others, draws lifeblood, imparts sustenance to some other creatures and then buzzes away.
The entire concept is, however, good reason to experiment with morphological analysis and like sciences.