One essential item in this kit is a sense of purpose, the hearty hope that we are not struggling in vain in a senseless universe.  A compelling reason for our existence.

Reason, that most ticklish, sticky and fickle of things.  How many insane fanatics have brandished indisputable Reason as they committed unspeakable acts?    

“Most insane fanatics brandish Authority, which is different than Reason,” she says, reasonably. 

Not a bad point, actually.  Authority is most often cited based on faith, not rationality.  

“Wait a second,” she says.  “Are YOU completely insane?  Why are you sitting there tapping like a blind man across cobblestones when there is so much for you to do today?”

“Faith,” I say, without apparent conviction.

“Faith in what, pray tell?” she says.

“Faith in the sudden eruption of poetry, a moment of music, faith in the essential spark that animates every moment of elation, faith in imagination,” I say.

“Faith that you are, somehow and in the face of massive evidence to the contrary, not a fool,” she says.

“Yes,” I say, and nod my head to the tapping of these keys.