It is said that as one approaches middle age, one develops a worldview and finds his own lens to see the world through it.
I find that the opposite is happening with me.
I am no longer sure. Of what I believe in. Of what I stand for.
I do not vehemently argue causes. I doubt. I second guess.
The science that i base my life on is turning more diabolical then ever. Sometimes it turns ever more simplistic and others it seems profoundly complicated.
Everything I’ve chased and learned and perfected gets redundant at a pace beyond what I can chase any more.
From the spectrum of child’s play to simple to easy to doable to complicated to complex to impossible.
I flit from rock to rock in an attempt to cross the raging stream. One step forward two step back.
I do not cross confidently and let out a hand to the person following me.
Some of them jump 5 steps and land on solid land and wave at me tempting me to take a leap.
Some others tell me there’s a whirlpool over the pebble i am standing on.
My gods don’t give me a single clue and I am tired of asking.
My footing is no longer sure. I do not know whether to go forward or back.
I envy people with convictions, false they may be.
I do not know whether I love enough. Or whether I am loved enough.
I am unsure, shaken, swayed in winds like a bent bough.
I do not put my neck on the line constantly fearing the guillotine. I am never free but there’s no one holding me back or pushing me forward.
I close one eye and try to peer deep into the unknowable, something that will free me from doubt and disbelief.
I am handed faith like a sealed package on a strange looking platter and am expected to accept it without opening it. I am handed science, like knife on a plate, to cut open the folios of a book whose pages are blank and erased and rewritten over.
The only thing I am left with is doubt. Like dust in a box.
Why give me a box if all it contains is dust?
There are only 2 loves in my life beyond all else, pure and sustaining and nourishing beyond a second thought.
1 has been taken away from me gradually and then abruptly, like taps drying up in global warming.
Where do i put all the boxes?
What do i fill in them?
Do I throw everything away and start afresh?
Give me that one truth which I desperately want.
The one which doesn’t hurt.