Faith is a passionate intuition.

Host: The morning light pours gently through the leaves of the old oak tree, casting delicate patterns on the earth below. The air smells of fresh soil, and the world around them seems to pause in that quiet moment before the day truly begins. Jack stands at the edge of a quiet meadow, his boots crunching softly underfoot as he stares out into the distance. Jeeny, sitting nearby on a weathered stone, looks at him with an expression that is both curious and knowing. The silence between them feels heavy, like something unsaid, yet full of possibility.

Jeeny: "Do you think faith is something we can touch, Jack? Like William Wordsworth said, 'Faith is a passionate intuition.' What do you think he meant by that?"

Jack: He shifts slightly, his hands resting in his pockets, his face still. "Faith’s always seemed like a vague thing to me. More of a concept than something you can really grasp. It's like chasing after a shadow you can never quite catch. Intuition… yeah, I get that. But the rest? It feels like blindness. You can't trust something unless you see it for what it truly is."

Jeeny: Her eyes gleam with something both tender and firm. "I think it’s the exact opposite, Jack. Faith isn’t about seeing—it’s about feeling. It’s knowing something deep within, even when there’s no solid proof. It’s not about the mind, it’s about the heart." She takes a slow breath, the morning air filling her lungs. "Wordsworth is saying that faith is a knowing that goes beyond what we can understand. It’s more than logic, more than reason."

Jack: He chuckles, the sound dry and rough. "So, you’re saying faith is just some gut feeling? Some emotion that we can’t explain? That’s all well and good in theory, but when the world falls apart around you, you want something more solid than a hunch. When everything’s in chaos, I don’t want to be left with just a feeling."

Jeeny: "But that's the thing, Jack. When everything is falling apart, sometimes all you have is that feeling. That’s faith. It's what keeps you moving when nothing makes sense. It’s that intuition that tells you, despite everything, that hope isn’t lost." She stands, her voice gaining strength, as if the very air around her is charged with belief. "When Wordsworth says it’s passionate, he’s talking about how deep it goes. How it burns inside of you, even when you can’t explain why."

Host: The wind shifts, carrying with it the scent of wildflowers and the distant sound of birds. Jeeny's words seem to rise, filling the space between them, like the echoes of a truth that neither of them is ready to completely accept. Jack’s gaze is distant, caught between the weight of her belief and his own skepticism. The world around them continues, the earth beneath their feet firm and unyielding, yet the air between them feels as if it’s shifting.

Jack: "But what if that feeling is wrong? What if it leads you down a path that’s full of mistakes? Faith might give you hope, but it also leaves you vulnerable. People follow false intuitions all the time—do we call that faith too?"

Jeeny: "No," she says gently, almost as if speaking to a child. "Faith isn’t about following the wrong path; it’s about knowing when to listen. It’s a deep connection with something greater than yourself, something that pulls you even when you don’t understand why. And the passion in it? That’s what drives you forward, even when the world seems to be telling you to turn around."

Jack: He looks down, his fingers brushing the edge of the stone beneath him. His voice is quieter now, more thoughtful. "But how do you know when it’s real, Jeeny? When it’s the right kind of faith and not just wishful thinking?"

Jeeny: Her eyes soften, and she takes a step closer, her presence steady and calm. "You don’t always know, Jack. That’s the risk. But if you don’t take it, if you don’t trust that intuition, then what are you left with? Doubt? Fear? A life spent waiting for something more certain, but never moving forward?"

Host: The sun peeks through the clouds, casting a warm, golden light across the meadow. For a moment, the world is quiet, still, and it feels as if everything has paused—Jack and Jeeny, the earth beneath them, the trees swaying in the breeze. Jack’s face is softened now, his usual guard slipping just a little. He gazes at Jeeny, not with the same skepticism, but with something closer to understanding.

Jack: "Maybe I’ve been looking at it all wrong. Maybe faith doesn’t need to be something you see. Maybe it’s just something you feel. Something you trust, even when there’s no proof to back it up." He looks out into the distance, the lines of doubt still present, but faint. "It’s just hard for me to let go, to trust something that can’t be touched."

Jeeny: She smiles softly, a quiet understanding passing between them. "It’s okay, Jack. Faith isn’t easy. But it’s worth it. Because without it, you’re always standing still, never truly moving forward."

Host: The light around them seems to shift, the world seeming to settle into a quiet harmony. The air still hums with possibility, and for just a moment, Jack and Jeeny stand in the presence of something larger than themselves. It’s the kind of stillness that feels full, as if the earth is holding its breath—waiting, knowing that sometimes, even without evidence, the most powerful thing we can have is faith.

The wind dies down.