Dear safe youngster

This is not a letter to fill you with dismay and discouragement, but quite the contraire indeed. I write from a time ahead that is brimmed and bubbling with all the greatness you may have dreamed of, yet I shall include that which is not spoken of often, that which is necessary in order to gain that personal retrospective pride.
I am talking about the anxiety of answers, or the anxiety of no answers at all. I am talking about gaining insight into the absurd situation of life, and really reeling in an anguish of utter despair. This is the side I saw, dear one, a side that my interests sent me plummeting into, to stagger, and cry, and be absorbed by sheer pessimistic hopelessness… But wait.
Remember all those questions of faith that answers gained no concrete absolute, circling in riddles that bore no definite end? Well, they never do come to some objective reality. They never present the divine closure that one so adamantly requires.
Delving into the abyss of the past and its scriptures, you find that the only truth is the one you are capable of constructing subjectively, as coherently and rationally as possible. Sticking together fragments of other men’s thought, to construct the identity and belief that you favour. I believe Francis Bacon said: “A little philosophy inclineth man’s mind to atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men’s minds to religion.”
This provides hope in its own accord. The fact of hopelessness is a mere scaffold of
hope.
You see, my younger one, by gaining insight you gain ignorance. And as much as it may seem to lead you backwards, the results are more than often eventually moving forward.
Yours hopingly
Timothy Gabb