Oh, certainty.
My thought is that “certainty” is a dangerous word indeed. It pours concrete on thoughts and ideas. It shadows and darkens how the sun should shine and glisten off a still pond. It stills the wind on which the spread of an eagle’s wings glides. It allows every gazelle to escape the jaws of the lion or it allows every lion to kill every gazelle.
Ah, certainty, be gone. May tablets of so-called truths rot away, be eaten by the bugs that survive on rotten wood or be dissolved in turbulent rains and pounding winds, to blow into the air and land lightly on all it previously burdened with its certainty. May constitutional dogmas yaw open into a question mark to meet the new moments exposed by the uncertainty of life, each person different than the next, each day bringing new gifts and new challenges, all different than those that came before. May old cultural myths acknowledge they are only flowers that bloom for a season before going to seed with new visions to wrap into the next season.
May possibilities be unlimited, searched out beyond the edges of certainty. May freedom lie in imagination with no boundaries except a morality based on loving kindness, compassion, generosity and joy.