It's our default mechanisms that remind us that we haven't given up, that we still expect wonders, that we still run on the glorious assumption of daily encounters with joy. If we find ourselves dreaming of the future without resenting the present, then we can be reassured that we are still creatures of hope and faith--this is our proof.
My ethereal self (or whatever name you've put to your own divinity) knows with quite terrifying certainty that she has more control over the unseen than the earth body could ever admit to. But the earth body is so frightened and so heavy, that I wonder why the ethereal hasn't yet cut ties and floated away from this anchor.
Or perhaps that's the earth body perspective. Perhaps this is the boat we drift in and she--the ethereal--is the sail, the compass, and the stars themselves. Perhaps one cannot make this crossing without the other. And perhaps she loves us just as fiercely as we fear drowning.