Doubt is companion to the quest for certainty. It never leaves because in this place absolute truth is hidden from us. Mother Theresa spent most of her life with no sense of the presence of god. And whether the god she thought exists is really there, this dialectic remains: the quest for truth and the uncertainty are inescabably one experience.
Is the struggle to find truth Quixotic, or do we get closer? We can observe the phenomena of consciousness; we can know the outcomes of choices; we can reason; we can collect data from the experiences of others. And it all points somewhere, to some ineffable knowledge that comes for a moment into focus, and fades again.
We are like short-wave radios, tuned to a frequency of some distant voice, and through the static picking up a word or two. And all the while we are sewing that into some coherence, knowing we only caught a little of the whole gestalt. Knowing that, through desire or projection, we could supply the missing words and get most of it wrong. And still...and still it is our work. And we continue.
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