By contrast, to describe "outsiders" as a group, a tribe, or a movement sounds as absurd as "herding cats." If we define ourselves by anything it's our spiritual individualism: the fact that no two of us hold quite the same worldview. We think that's as it should be, since each human being is so uniquely made, each nervous system so fine-tuned to its own precise frequency. But combined with our respect for mystery and our comfort with uncertainty, this total lack of consensus leaves us helpless in a debate. It's not that we're out to win hearts and minds away from tradition; we're too "live and let live" for that. But we can't even define or defend our own position.

All we know for sure is what we're saying no to, and that that "no" is a matter of gut-level integrity; we are outside organized religion, not because we don't want to be inside it, but because we can't. I identify with "Donaldito," born Catholic, who posted on Beliefnet: "I consider myself a seeker, and returning to the place that started me on that journey feels pretty good . . . until I actually listen to a lot of what's being said." How many times has my heart been warmed by the deep familial glow in a synagogue, only to sink into my shoes as the Bat Mitzvah girl stumbles uncomprehendingly through some recipe for animal sacrifice from Leviticus?

It took me years of reading, thinking, talking; tiptoeing temptingly close to two traditions — dancing with the women at my Orthodox cousin's daughter's wedding, going to see "The Passion" with my Pentecostal friend and bowing my head as she laid her hands on it and prayed; and a year of intensive blogging, deep in debate with traditionalists, atheists, and "outsiders" like myself - to fully understand that my "no" has protected a gestating "yes." Underneath (and including!) the wild variety and deliberate tentativeness of our spiritual practices and principles, we "outsiders" do, in fact, share a coherent culture, with its own strongly held values, its own ways of making community and sense. It's a culture native to the here and now, looking to the future more than the past, drawing on the human heritage according to present, urgent need rather than ancestral dictum. And it's a culture on the move, a new lifeform evolved to survive the flood of change not by resisting it with arks and dikes and dams, but by swimming in it and breathing it. It's a culture stripped down and lightened up for a journey without a destination. It is, you could say, nomadic. And in that sense, perhaps, it's a high-tech return to our hunter-gatherer roots.