I don’t know what’s true. I stopped pretending that I know. I stopped imagining that other people know. I’m left with ignorance, a confident ignorance.
I don’t know that I should fear anything, not disease nor death. I don’t guess at outcomes, so I don’t know worry. I don’t know dissatisfaction because I don’t know a standard which to judge by.
When I believed I knew truth, it led to anger, fear, and sadness. But with my claims of truth unsubstantiated, I now admit: I don’t know. And with that, the weight of the lie is lifted.