I had been around awhile. And I had slid. From an amused bemusement, past simple bewilderment, beyond all sophisticated skepticism, to a lurching, unquiet desperation.
Scrape the surface and nothing makes sense. So I sit on the side and agree to pretend.
Perhaps you are one of the blessed, one with an easy, resilient faith. You don’t see what all the fuss is about. The Universe for you is convincingly benign.
The predicament is conspicuously modern. The Gnostic replaced by the Graduate, a learned ignorance by an erudite cleverness.
Cherished, coddled paradigms that are deeply conflicted are preserved precariously with strips and patches of facile assumptions, specious logic and authoritative bluster.
You are finally ready to allow the possibility [and just the possibility] that most explanations are deflections, denials and exalted rationalizations. That a pious insanity is afoot.