One of the many things I like about hanging with Morrison’s family is that his Dad has a brain like an inquisitive encyclopedia stuffed full of knowledge, spanning back centuries, and sometimes centuries into the future. We tend to get into big conversations, like the other night: is life, in fact, too inexplicable to be random? Is it, in fact, a just simulation? If we’ve come so far as a race to be able to create simulations of a race, how do we know that we are not a simulation that we created? Not his Dad’s theory per se, just a theory that he passed along, that’s currently popular. I, along with his Mom, of course found this idea to be deeply upsetting, and I ended up shouting something like BUT WHAT ABOUT MY CONSCIOUSNESS?! We eventually arrived at this idea: all of the scientists forever could gather in a big old science room with all of their science tools and studies and books and data, and there would still be parts of the world they could not explain, not matter what. To me, that part is God. I don’t know if he IS that part, but that’s where he lives, or rather hides, or rather, waits.