Certainty. This is the week that certainty failed. A week where I was introduced to Yvonne Rainer and her bookFeelings Are Facts. This introduction linked with a grouping of tiny stories has got me thinking about certainty and how its smooth facade allows for an acceptable ordering of the chaos. "I am certain I will see the sun come out again" we say or "He is certain that that the stock market will rise/that love will return to whisper in his ear/that a parent's love will never die" Without certainty it'd be pretty hard to get anything done. And yet, let's face it, certainty is a joke, a construct, a smooth kind of pudding that aims to soften the blow of its opposite, and much more accurate counterpart: uncertainty. "He is uncertain that the stock market will rise/uncertain that love will return to whisper in his ear/uncertain that a parent's love will never die" I believe in the second guy, the uncertain guy,  and I find I am more drawn to him as well. He is dressed a little oddly, the hint of dandruff on his rumpled collar, the unseen hair lingering on his chin. And he is also the guy who is "uncertain that the sun will come out again". And I am drawn to him! Because this week I learned that the sun is not certain. Bill Clinton has become a vegan, my mother has become a ghost,  peace has not prevailed in Lybia, in Israel, in my neighbourhood, in my heart, but free speech has gotten a lot quieter. I am certain that the icebergs will melt. I am certain that It is perhaps because of this statement that I think certainty failed this week. Uncertainty is waiting in the wings....

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