No matter what we know, where we come from, the background we are blessed or damned with, we need to believe, to find a greater truth. 
We know that what we have is precious; it is what sustains our hope. 
No matter how we may hide and pretend, that sense of awareness hovers inside, the moment upon waking, lying still, unsure of where we are, that moment in the music, hands suddenly in the air, released. 
And sadly, that same thing that is bastardized, used against itself, and drives us relentlessly, blindly on.
my bad side
a writer's blog
what about floaters? what do they believe in? many a literary figure has been modeled after that, usually with accompanying angst and a need for what they don’t have. the camus’s, the holden caulfeilds… what happens to them after the book gets closed….
It seems to me that everybody needs something. Holden needed to focus on the ducks in winter and Camus on his smokes (he was a bit of a poser).