Descartes said, “I think, therefore I am.” The way I see it, I’m connected to God, therefore I am. Without my faith, I feel that I’d be nothing but a disconnected array of thoughts and feelings without any sense of true meaning or purpose.

I don’t mean that without my religion I’d be nothing—although I think I would be less. I mean I derive my emotional security from my belief that I’m not alone in the universe—that I’m supported by what Martin Luther King, Jr., called “cosmic companionship.”

I can’t imagine how cold this world must feel— particularly these days—for those who have no larger, otherworldly context for their human existence. Without a spiritual perspective, I don’t know how people do it.

Every once in a while, people ask me what I think I would have done with my life if I hadn’t found A Course in Miracles. I usually mention Edina on the British TV comedy Absolutely Fabulous. If you haven’t seen it, trust me—not a pretty sight. Like that character, some people get stuck in life, circling over and over to the same old spots because they can’t find the door to another realm of options. Most of us at one point or another can relate to that. All I know is that the only escape for me has been a door I cannot open by myself.

In college, I took classes where I read books about philosophical states of “ennui,” a sense of isolation in the universe and existential despair. But at that point in my life I couldn’t fully appreciate what any of that meant. It’s only with the passage of years, as each layer of worldly illusion falls away before your eyes, that you come to appreciate an otherworldly constant. Unless you have contact with a higher power, the lower ones can really do you in.

And once you’ve gotten old enough, you’re not too proud to ask for help.

I’m amused when I hear someone say that faith is just a crutch. I figure if your leg is broken, then it would be nice to have that crutch. And you only use it until you’re ready to get back on your own two feet.

Relying on God doesn’t mean that you’re relying on something outside yourself. It means that you’re relying on the Truth of All Things, a higher power whose throne is not out there somewhere but inside your heart. You’re relying on the power of compassion and nonjudgment. You’re relying on objective, discernible laws of the universe; faith that love produces miracles is no different from faith that gravity makes things fall.

If I have a choice between relying on a divine Creator or relying on the false powers of a confused and pain-filled world, then I choose the former anytime. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I can feel my soul reach up to God, my mind uttering phrases such as All I want is the peace of God before I even reach for the A Course in Miracles workbook that I keep next to my bed. I’m hardly some contemporary version of Saint Teresa, mind you—I’m just exhausted from a life of searching for anything but the be-all and end-all. My soul has been thrown against so many rocky cliffs, and I finally realized I was the wind. Who else but God could calm the tempest in my soul? And I have a feeling, having been calm for certain moments and certain hours and certain days, that what happens when I achieve that state is not just useful to me, but to Him as well. At least, that is what I pray for.