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Without certainty, I would have—
Nothing to say,
No words to speak,
Nothing to do,
No goals,
No values,
No commitments,
No defense against manipulations and insults,
Nothing to die for or to live for,
No truth,
No place to take a stand,
No reason or purpose for being,
No place to rest my mind,
No protection against obsessional thinking, trying obsessively to find answers,
No reason to risk my vanishing comforts,
No reason to oppose evil and the bully.
Without certainty, I would be a mess, and you would be talking into an empty
shell, whose only protection is a mask to hide my emptiness. I would be a sack
of feelings without their interpretations and meanings, a flat and barren earth
without contours, fearfully awaiting my miserable end.
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