Hello, God

Hello, God.

There really isn't much more to ask from You than to rid me the idea of You.

Please, God, destroy this idea of God within me.

There is an order to truth within this world.

Our material world: base, but not necessarily bad. The performance of being an animal. This is the realm which the idea of God itself must perish.

Somewhere, who knows where, exists the order of perfect ideas. Perfect love, or the perfect love of God. Grace is the mechanism to ascend into this realm. Gravity is the pull towards the material world. Our only power is consent.

The man who perfectly loves God is no different than a virtuous atheist. Both are united under the persistent fervor of truth, clarity, that entranced gaze upwards towards a silent ideal. Both bound to the highest good, just a slight change in orientation. The atheist himself is likely more Christian than almost all Christians. Supposed 'good' Christians: impure love. The virtuous atheist: impure love that strives towards purity. The only difference: the impure love for pure love itself.

God is truth, so the pursuit of truth is the pursuit of God.

I must rid myself of the You within me. My dear God, You have not forsaken me, but by forsaking the image of You I might find truth.