I’ve always said, “If only knew what I don’t know, then I could learn it.”
As an intuitive empath, I receive intuitive downloads as a matter of course. Explaining what I learn to the people around me…well, that’s a different matter.
I recently wrote a poem about it.
What I know
What I know could fill a library, could I only write it down. Knowing, after all, is out of style. “You can’t know,” he insisted. Lumps rose and faces fell. We dispersed and some forgot, but the walls remember well. Etched in pastel cinderblocks, You can’t know! Brindled laminate echoes, You can’t know! Creaking, cracking, screeching, You can’t know! You can’t know! Cogito ergo sum, but to know is to be an ignorant buffoon! Quick! Wake up and bury your head, Before they come to bury your dead! Justify your answer, support your claims, Show your work, or burn! Defend your position, anticipate opposition, Produce the facts, or die! Quick! Burn them on stakes, spit them online, Roast them on stage, spear them on the silver screen, Hang them at the crossroads of Zuckerburg and me! All Hail, Holy Science! Praise Almighty Skepticism! Raise a hymn together, neither a believer nor a knower be! We sing to Thee, Empiricism, and we honor Thee, Descartes! Pass around the offering plate, the mite goes in the cup! “You can’t know,” he insisted. Lumps rose and faces fell. We dispersed and some forgot, but I remember well. What I know would fill a library, Except I don’t know how I know it. So I keep it to myself.