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Faith

I’m looking for truth, but finding only useful analogies. I have friends who are Christians, and friends who are witches. I love them all, and believe in none. Once, I was a Christian. We went to church and listened to preachers, but I found no home for my passion. Later, I was a pagan. We went to the woods and listened to spirits, but I found no expression for my mind. Now I am alone, isolated in a congregation of my uncertain fellows. Even atheism requires more faith than I can summon. Knowledge becomes it’s own god and wonder is diminished. Education speaks in terms of what we already know, and what we have yet to discover. Everything, it seems, is ultimately knowable, given adequate time and technology.

We already know more than I can understand. The comfortable, intuitive Newtonian universe is obsolete. Time forms the fourth dimension. “Beyond the universe” does not exist, and yet the universe has a discreet shape. Is faith an intellectual act? Can one simply decide to stop doubting and believe? Must you then also cease to question and learn? I long to believe. To feel, deep in my soul, the resonance of a truth, and feel some envy of those who do, even of those I do not respect, whose faith allows them to hate and to be blind. I admire faith. I loathe the blindness.

My spiritual handicap threatens the next generation. How can I answer truthfully? I believe there is a higher and benevolent power at work in the universe. But do I? I believe that people are basically good and that there are external standards of love and evil that transcend culturally defined mores. But are there? How can I desecrate the easy faith of a child, poison it with doubt? How can I lie?

I’ve taken elements of Christianity, shards of paganism, bits of ancient mythology, nubs of pop psychology and woven a blanket that I sometimes toy with protecting myself under. It works best when I need it least, when I am strong and happy in my own right. When I seek its shelter in times of pain and loneliness, it is inevitably threadbare, pathetic and sadly sterile. I rarely stay for long. I find myself at these times, driven from under my faith quilt by it glaring inadequacies, wandering into the wet of life, seeking people, and an eye to catch. Hoping to find in people what I cannot find in God, a sense of connection, of love sent out and received. A patchwork faith, a god of motley, a doubting trust and an honest lie are all I have to offer. You can have it all, my darling, for what it’s worth.

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