Ponder what would be if there was nothing. Imagine an existence with no life, no light, no universe and no God. An endless array of darkness, of emptiness. A timeless existence where nothing exists.

Quand il mangeait des babas ou des éclairs, il se sentait coupable jusqu'à l'âme, à cause de la guerre, à cause des vendeuses dont les maris ou les amants se trouvaient sans doute quelque part, entre la mer du Nord et les Vosges. Mais il comprenait que Madeleine avait besoin de cette nourriture, justement pour tenir en échec ce vide, ce néant, cette nuit où elle était toujours sur le point de sombrer.

I am a manifestation of misery and torment with veins pumping agony. I am the darkness that makes blossoms of hope wilt away.

How is one to live a moral and compassionate existence when one finds darkness not only in one's culture but within oneself? There are simply no answers to some of the great pressing questions. You continue to live them out, making your life a worthy expression of leaning into the light.

Nothingness not being nothing, nothingness being emptiness.

And somewhat as in blind night, on a mild sea, a sailor may be made aware of an iceberg, fanged and mortal, bearing invisibly near, by the unwarned charm of its breath, nothingness now revealed itself: that permanent night upon which the stars in their expiring generations are less than the glinting of gnats, and nebulae, more trivial than winter breath; that darkness in which eternity lies bent and pale, a dead snake in a jar, and infinity is the sparkling of a wren blown out to sea; that inconceivable chasm of invulnerable silence in which cataclysms of galaxies rave mute as amber.