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How do I trace the roots of my faith? That’s easy enough. I don’t. I’d have no idea where to even begin. My faith is not the kind that was cultivated by a specific religion. It is more of a dreamscape garden of wild possibilities. Yet its roots are older, deeper, and stronger than me, connecting with something beyond and greater than my own sense of self.
That’s not to say that I believe in God or another version of a higher power. Unfortunately, I don’t necessarily believe one way or the other. You may as well ask me if I believe in unicorns. In both cases, I don’t trust any of the current evidence suggesting that they exist, but I’m not willing to accept that they don’t. It doesn’t seem right somehow. Perhaps it’s simply the wrong question. If nothing else, life is so much more interesting in a world full of what we call magic.
Nevertheless, unicorns or no unicorns, I do believe that life does have its own sort of magic and — with our ability to explain it through science even as we give it expression through spirituality — humanity could become the greatest of magic performers. I suppose you could say that my faith is rooted in the interplay between the two: science informs my spiritual thinking while spirituality inspires my scientific imagination. For me, there is no fundamental paradox about having faith in both at the same time. In a universe of infinite mystery, there’s plenty of awe and wonder to go around. Besides, I’m not really looking for answers, so I don’t ask or expect much from either. I’m basically just enjoying being in the show.