“And it isn’t only that I don’t believe it. I can’t.
“I can’t believe it because my reason tells me that such a system, in which anyone dictates our every move- be it a god, or a devil, or our subconscious mind, or our tyrannical genesis simply impossible.
“Life itself must be founded upon the infinite possibility for choice and accident. And if we cannot prove that it is, we must believe that it is. We must believe that we can change, that we can control, that we can direct our own destinies.
“Things could have gone differently. Rowan could have refused to help that thing. She could have killed it. And she may kill it yet. And behind her actions may lie the tragic possibility that once it had come into the flesh, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy it.
“I refuse to judge Rowan. The rage I felt against her is now gone.
“And I choose of my own free will to stay here, waiting for her, and believing in her.
“That belief in her is the first tenet of my credo. And no matter how enormous and intricate this web of events seems, no matter how much it is like all the patterns of flags and balustrades and repetitive cast iron that dominate this little plot of earth, I maintain my credo.
“I believe in Free Will, the Force Almighty by which we conduct ourselves as if we were the sons and daughters of a just and wise God, even if there is no such Supreme Being. And by free will, we can choose to do good on this earth, no matter that we all die, and do not know where we go when we die, or if a justice or explanation awaits us.
“I believe that we can through our reason know what good is, and in the communion of men and women, in which the forgiveness of wrongs will always be more significant than the avenging of them, and that in the beautiful natural world that surrounds us, we represent the best and the finest of beings, for we alone can see that natural beauty, appreciate it, learn from it, weep for it, and seek to conserve it and protect it.
“I believe finally that we are the only true moral force in the physical world, the makers of ethics and moral ideas, and that we must be as good as the gods we’ve created in the past to guide us.
“I believe that through our finest efforts, we will succeed finally in creating heaven on earth, and we do it every time that we love, every time that we embrace, every time that we commit to create rather than destroy, every time that we place life over death, and the natural over what is unnatural, insofar as we are able to define it.
“And I suppose I do believe in the final analysis that a peace of mind can be obtained in the face of the worst horrors and the worst losses. It can be obtained by faith in change and in will and in accident; and by faith in ourselves, that we will do the right thing, more often than not, in the face of adversity.
“For ours is the power and the glory, because we are capable of visions and ideas which are ultimately stronger and more enduring than we are.
“That is my credo. That is why I believe in my interpretation of the story of the Mayfair Witches.
“Probably wouldn’t stand up against the philosophers of the Talamasca. Maybe won’t even go into the file. But it’s my belief, for what it’s worth, and it sustains me. And if I were to die right now, I wouldn’t be afraid. Because I can’t believe that horror or chaos awaits us.
“If any revelation awaits us at all, it must be as good as our ideals and our best philosophy. For surely nature must embrace the visible
“If that isn’t so, then we are in the grip of a staggering irony. And all the spooks of hell might as well dance in the parlor. There could be a devil. People who burn other people to death are fine. There could be anything.
“But the world is simply too beautiful for that.
“At least it seems that way to me as I sit here now on the screened porch, in the rocking chair, with all the Mardi Gras noise having long ago died away, writing by the light from the distant parlor lamp behind me.
“Only our capacity for goodness is as fine as this silken breeze coming from the south, as fine as the scent of the rain just be ginning to fall, with a faint roar as it strikes the shimmering leaves, so gentle, gentle as the vision of the rain itself strung like silver through the fabric of the embracing darkness.
“Come home, Rowan. I’m waiting.”
