Uncertainty is perfection.
We have all spent so very long and so much effort and wasted time seeking some Other and distant or somehow different completeness and possession of Self as refined, perfect and infallible that we almost entirely missed the point.
That uncertainty and doubt which plagues us is really only and always just a flip-side and inverse property of a perfection and excellence we assumed was somehow different to us.
This chaotic confusion of bubbling anxiety and unfocused undecidability is not alien or harmful; it the mind doing what minds do – exploring, hesitating, considering, doubting.
Further, it is an endemic property of matter and logic as much as of the languages we use to just never quite totally or finally and with unremitting closure capture or describe the world and self-representational circumscription they seek.
In this way, that discomfort and internal surface of discontinuous dissonance and linguistic pathology that we are all quite natively subject to in each and all of its diverse manifestations and instances – it is precisely what and how the Universe does both through and as us.
This internal surface of enigmatic and directionless chaos is not something other than us. It is the natural effervescence and complex creative state upon and through which we project a symbolic closure in or of language and cognition which is really quite fictional and impossible.
Our interior discontinuity and the patterns of thought that orbit it are nothing other than the indefinitely-extensible self-inflection of an endlessly creative Cosmos seeking a unity and wholeness which doesn’t in any ultimate sense exist. It is really quite enigmatic and beautiful.
We are already perfect and just as we are.