I am a Pagan, which I suppose is my most dogmatic of beliefs. Now grant that Paganism doesn't exactly have a specific sacred text; I scoff at many of the Llewelynn book and am critical especially of Gerald Gardner, the man credited with modern Wicca. (I am not Wiccan, it grates against my science.) I have a friend -- an atheist -- who is always surprised that I persist in having religion at all, being an otherwise sensible human being. My life is better that I am spiritual. Today, walking across Vassar campus to teach another class, the sky opened up and rain poured down. People fled and screamed as though the rain hurt. I walked serenely, living within the moment they were missing. It was the only time I would have the exact experience of walking through this summer rain and I would not miss it. I thought keenly of the etching The Vinegar Tasters and smiled widely. The same world, same stimuli, but I was delighted to be soaked. I would not trade that for dry skepticism.
I do not know why I am a Pagan. Today I told a girl in reference to her crisis of identity that I have always felt I did not change, only became more myself. I can trace the thread of my spirituality to my first memories. Going in reverse, I can see no other fate for myself. Perhaps my smaller incarnation could have been anything, but he always seemed to be me.