“You believe in all this Earthseed stuff, don’t you?” “Every word,” I answered. “But . . . you made it up.”

I reached down, picked up a small stone, and put it on the table between us. “If I could analyze this and tell you all that it was made of, would that mean I’d made up its contents?” He didn’t do more than glance at the rock. He kept his eyes on me. “So what did you analyze to get Earthseed?” “Other people,” I said, “myself, everything I could read, hear, see, all the history I could learn.

“Began to discover it and understand it,” I said. “Stumbling across the truth isn’t the same as making things up.” I wondered how many times and ways I would have to say this to new people.

“Even if when I pray, I ask God to help me?” he asked. “Even so,” I said. “You’re the one your words reach and strengthen. You can think of it as praying to that part of God that’s within you.”

Earthseed is true—is a collection of truths, but there’s no law that says it has to succeed. We can always screw it up. I can always screw it up. There’s so much to be done.”