I'm not one of those guys that has a great worldview. I kind of

In the words of David Bowie, “I’m not one of those guys that has a great worldview. I kind of deal with terror and fear and isolation and abandonment.” This confession is not of despair, but of truth — the truth that dwells within the chambers of the human heart. It is a mirror to the soul of an artist who has walked through the dark corridors of the mind and emerged not with answers, but with deeper questions. To deal with terror and fear is not to be broken; it is to live honestly in the presence of one’s own shadows.

In the ancient manner of reflection, we might say Bowie’s words echo the wisdom of the old philosophers, who taught that every man must face the abyss within himself. Just as Odysseus crossed the seas and faced monsters born from his own longing and pride, so too does every soul voyage through isolation and abandonment in the long odyssey of existence. The terror Bowie speaks of is not merely fright, but the trembling recognition of mortality — the knowing that beneath all music and art, we are transient beings adrift between stars.

Yet within this trembling lies power. When one gazes into fear without turning away, the spirit begins to forge meaning from the void. Bowie, who reinvented himself across lifetimes — Ziggy, the Thin White Duke, the Starman — was not escaping his pain but transforming it. His art became a kind of alchemy: turning fear into sound, isolation into poetry, abandonment into beauty. In this way, his confession becomes a teaching — that creation is born from confronting, not fleeing, the storm within.

Consider the tale of Siddhartha, who sat beneath the Bodhi tree. He too faced the inner demons of terror, desire, and doubt. When Mara, the god of illusion, tempted him with fear, Siddhartha did not strike or run — he touched the earth and stayed still. That gesture — stillness in the face of dread — was enlightenment itself. So too, Bowie’s statement invites us to stay with our discomfort, to bear witness to our pain until it gives birth to insight.

There is a heroism in vulnerability. The warrior who raises a sword against his enemy may win a battle, but the one who opens his heart to its own trembling wins himself. To deal with fear and abandonment is to embrace the sacred truth that we are all incomplete. Only when we cease pretending to have a “great worldview” — when we accept that we are merely wanderers among uncertainties — can we begin to live with authenticity.

The lesson, then, is this: do not seek to escape your fear; make of it your teacher. Sit beside your terror as one would sit beside an old friend who speaks in riddles. Ask it what it wants to show you. In isolation, listen for the quiet voice that whispers of strength. In abandonment, find the seed of self-reliance. The one who embraces these companions will never truly walk alone.

In our age of noise and endless proclamation, to admit “I do not have a great worldview” is an act of rebellion. It is the humility of the sage who knows that wisdom is not found in certainties but in the courage to dwell among doubts. The practical path for us, then, is to cultivate the art of inner listening — through solitude, through writing, through art, through silence. Let us learn to meet our fear not with resistance, but with understanding, until it transforms into the music of the soul.

And so, children of tomorrow, remember this: The stars you seek are not above you but within. When you walk through your nights of terror and loneliness, remember David Bowie’s truth — that from such nights, the dawn of creation is born. Do not flee your shadows; make of them your companions, and your spirit will shine brighter than the void itself.