And the attitude of faith is the very opposite of clinging to

Host: The evening mist hung low over the riverside café, its soft veil blurring the neon reflections of the city across the water. The sound of distant traffic hummed like breath, steady but far away, while the air smelled faintly of rain and espresso — the fragrance of transition, of thoughts not yet spoken.

Inside, Jack sat near the window, a worn notebook open before him, filled with sketches of words that hadn’t yet decided what they meant. Across from him, Jeeny stirred her tea slowly, watching the way the spoon rippled her reflection. Between them lay a small piece of paper torn from a book, creased but deliberate — as if carried a long way for this exact conversation.

In faded ink, the quote read:

“And the attitude of faith is the very opposite of clinging to belief, of holding on.”
— Alan Watts

The words rested like an anchor that somehow refused to sink.

Jeeny: [softly] “You know… I’ve read this line a hundred times. But every time, it feels like he’s contradicting the whole world.”

Jack: [half-smiling] “He usually was. Watts didn’t believe in belief — he believed in letting go of it.”

Jeeny: [smiling faintly] “That’s the paradox, isn’t it? Faith as surrender, not certainty.”

Jack: [nodding] “Yeah. Faith not as a fortress — but as open hands.”

Host: The rain began again, tapping gently against the window like fingertips searching for rhythm. The café’s low light shimmered across the glass, and the world outside became a watercolor of movement and blur.

Jeeny: [quietly] “It’s strange how we talk about faith like it’s something to hold on to — like a lifeline in a storm. But he’s saying the real faith is in letting go of the rope entirely.”

Jack: [softly] “Because holding on is fear. Letting go is trust.”

Jeeny: [after a moment] “Trust in what, though?”

Jack: [smiling faintly] “In what’s already carrying you.”

Jeeny: [softly] “Like floating instead of swimming.”

Jack: [nodding] “Exactly. The moment you stop fighting the water, it holds you up.”

Host: A couple laughed softly at the next table, their voices warm and easy. Outside, a ferry glided across the river, its lights glimmering like small truths moving through the dark.

Jeeny: [after a pause] “You think that’s what Watts meant by faith? To stop fighting the current?”

Jack: [quietly] “Yeah. Most people confuse belief with control — the need to define everything, to make the mystery safe. But faith doesn’t control. It accepts.”

Jeeny: [softly] “So belief builds fences. Faith opens gates.”

Jack: [smiling] “And maybe that’s why it scares us — because faith asks us to fall backward into something we can’t measure.”

Jeeny: [quietly] “To let reality be unfinished.”

Host: The steam from Jeeny’s cup rose slowly, curling like smoke from an invisible candle. For a moment, it looked alive — then it vanished, leaving only warmth behind.

Jeeny: [thoughtfully] “I grew up thinking faith was about holding tighter — to prayer, to scripture, to what my parents taught me. It gave me order. But it also made me afraid to question.”

Jack: [nodding] “Because questioning felt like betrayal.”

Jeeny: [softly] “Exactly. But now… I think real faith might be what happens when you finally let yourself ask.”

Jack: [quietly] “That’s the beginning of wonder. Doubt is just curiosity wearing humility.”

Jeeny: [smiling faintly] “So letting go doesn’t destroy faith — it deepens it.”

Jack: [softly] “Because the divine doesn’t live in answers. It lives in awareness.”

Host: The light from the river shimmered across their faces — blue, gold, silver — changing with every wave, like truth itself refusing to stay one color.

Jeeny: [gazing out the window] “You know, sometimes I envy people with absolute certainty. They look so grounded.”

Jack: [smiling gently] “Grounded or frozen?”

Jeeny: [laughing softly] “Fair point.”

Jack: [quietly] “Certainty looks peaceful, but it’s brittle. The moment life shifts, it cracks. Faith bends.”

Jeeny: [softly] “So belief says, ‘I know.’ Faith says, ‘I trust.’”

Jack: [nodding] “And that’s why one survives the storm — the other drowns in it.”

Host: The rain grew steadier, tracing endless patterns down the windowpane. Beyond it, the river kept flowing — silent, unbothered by human need for permanence.

Jeeny: [after a pause] “I used to think faith was something external — a structure you enter, like a church. But maybe it’s more like the sky. You don’t enter it; you’re already inside it.”

Jack: [softly] “That’s beautiful. Faith as space, not doctrine.”

Jeeny: [nodding] “Space to not know. To breathe.”

Jack: [quietly] “To live without needing the universe to explain itself.”

Jeeny: [smiling] “That’s the hardest part, though. We crave stories because silence terrifies us.”

Jack: [softly] “But maybe silence is the story — the one we keep interrupting.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked, slow and deliberate, each second a reminder that time itself asks for surrender — moving forward, never asking permission, always inviting trust.

Jeeny: [after a long silence] “When I first read this quote, I thought he was dismissing belief. But now I think he’s freeing it — taking it out of cages.”

Jack: [quietly] “Exactly. He’s not saying don’t believe — he’s saying don’t cling. Let your beliefs evolve as life does. Because even truth has seasons.”

Jeeny: [smiling faintly] “So faith is not a conclusion. It’s a rhythm.”

Jack: [softly] “And every breath is part of it.”

Jeeny: [quietly] “Maybe that’s what enlightenment is — the moment you stop gripping the light and just let it shine through your open hands.”

Jack: [smiling] “Watts would like that.”

Host: The rain began to slow, the clouds thinning to reveal the faint shimmer of stars above the river. The café’s last few patrons gathered their things and left, but Jack and Jeeny stayed — as if the quiet itself had asked them to.

Jeeny: [softly] “It’s strange, isn’t it? How faith — real faith — feels lighter than certainty. You’d think letting go would make you fall, but somehow… it makes you float.”

Jack: [quietly] “Because faith isn’t holding on. It’s being held.”

Jeeny: [smiling faintly] “By what?”

Jack: [softly] “By everything.”

Host: The lights dimmed, and the last ripple of rain disappeared from the window. The river glowed faintly in the moonlight, neither still nor restless — simply moving, as it always had, as it always would.

On the table, the torn page remained, the ink now catching the last reflection of light:

“And the attitude of faith is the very opposite of clinging to belief, of holding on.”

Host: Because faith is not the fist that grasps —
it is the palm that opens.

It is the courage to trust the unseen current,
the wisdom to release control,
the grace to float when there’s nothing left to cling to.

Belief builds walls.
Faith builds wings.

And somewhere, in the quiet pulse beneath thought,
beyond every creed and certainty,
the soul learns the oldest lesson of all —

that to let go
is not to lose,
but to finally be free.