On Uncertainty

Physicists have quantified uncertainty into a principle, bearing the name of one of their heroes. Mathematicians describe the propagation of uncertainty with rigorously derived formulae. Denizens of Faerie through subtle and rhythmic manipulations of their fingers extract joy from the great, milky udders of uncertainty. Having drunk deeply of that nectar, one loses all sense of certainty, even of oneself. Finding oneself surrounded by Faerie, one mistakenly assumes that the self too is a manifestation of the landscape, a natural expression of a world that shifts and hiccups unpredictably. There is no terror in losing oneself, in confusing the merit of virtue with the arbitrariness of circumstance, in becoming an observer of one’s own actions from whom the rationale has been entirely obscured. I walked in Faerie with my wife beside me and my children in tow and I no longer remembered that I had once been plagued by questions such as, "What am I doing here?", "Why do I love this woman?", "What are my hopes for my children?" In their place, I understood that we were entities following ballistic trajectories; there could be no doubt that we moved and interacted with each other, but I could not fathom why and this infectious lack of understanding filled my family and I with a buoyancy that carried us above the treetops, where we surveyed the lands of Faerie and pointed, delightedly, at the incomprehensible features of the life-sized map.