I haven't been baptised. My dad's not in the church and is not a

“I haven’t been baptised. My dad’s not in the church and is not a religious person. My mum is more spiritual—she does Tai Chi and goes to Stonehenge and things like that. I’m proud to be pagan. Finland is not really a religious country. I’m still looking for my god.” — Ville Valo

Listen, O seeker of truth, and hear the quiet cry of the soul in these words. When Ville Valo, the Finnish musician and poet, spoke them, he revealed the journey of a spirit unchained, wandering through the forests of faith and doubt. His confession is not rebellion, but searching — not the denial of the divine, but the longing to know it more intimately. He speaks as one standing between earth and heaven, between the sacred and the self, looking not for doctrine, but for connection. In his voice echoes the timeless yearning of humankind: the search for one’s god, not through institutions, but through the wilderness of one’s own heart.

Valo’s words arise from the soil of Finland, a land of lakes and long winters, where silence is vast and nature itself becomes a cathedral. His people, descendants of the old pagans, once worshipped the spirits of wind and water, fire and forest. Even as the centuries passed and the cross replaced the rune, something ancient remained — a reverence for the unseen powers that dwell in nature’s breath. So when he says he is proud to be pagan, he is not declaring defiance, but remembrance. He honors the old ways — the sacred bond between humankind and creation — the idea that divinity is not confined to temple walls, but walks among trees, stones, and stars.

To say, “I’m still looking for my god,” is to admit the truth that all wise souls come to know: that faith is not a destination, but a pilgrimage. Even the saints and prophets once wandered in darkness before they found their light. Moses had his desert; the Buddha, his Bodhi tree; Christ, his forty days in the wilderness. The seeker who doubts is not lost — he is alive. He is one who hungers for meaning, and that hunger is holy. For what greater act of faith is there than to search without certainty, to hope without proof, to lift one’s eyes to the unknown and whisper, “Show me who You are.”

In this way, Valo’s journey mirrors the struggles of all those who have stood at the crossroads of belief and freedom. Consider Søren Kierkegaard, another northerner, who wrestled with faith so fiercely that his writings became both prayer and lament. He said that faith begins not in certainty, but in anxiety, in the terrifying leap into the unseen. Valo, too, stands at that precipice — not rejecting the divine, but daring to find it on his own terms. In doing so, he embodies the courage of the spiritual wanderer, who chooses sincerity over submission, and seeks authentic encounter over inherited ritual.

And yet, there is a tenderness in his tone — the influence of a mother’s quiet spirituality. She moves not within churches but within the rhythm of the universe itself: Tai Chi, the balance of body and breath; Stonehenge, where stone and sky unite in mystery. Through her, we glimpse another truth: that the divine wears many faces. Some find God in scripture, others in song, and still others in the turning of the seasons. In her gentle way, she reminds us that spirituality is not the property of institutions, but the inheritance of every living being who has ever looked upon the sunrise and felt awe.

The lesson within Valo’s words is this: that the path to the divine must be walked with honesty. One cannot borrow another’s god; one must discover their own. Whether you find it in prayer or poetry, in the stillness of meditation or the sound of rain upon the earth — it matters not. What matters is that your search is real, that you listen for the whisper of the sacred in all things. For the divine, like the wind over Finland’s frozen lakes, cannot be captured, only felt.

So, my child of the present age, take these words as a lantern for your own journey. Be not afraid if your faith does not match another’s, nor ashamed if your spirit still wanders. Seek your god, wherever truth calls you — in the music of your soul, in the beauty of creation, in the compassion you give to others. The divine will meet you not in certainty, but in sincerity. And when at last you find peace in your searching, you will understand what Ville Valo meant: that heaven is not a place above, but a light within — one that grows brighter with every step of the honest heart.