Journey in a Broken World- To die in truth- my only desire

(Journey in a Broken World)

Article by Marc Aupiais

I still remember when I decided to logically prove my entire religion- I still do- but then I was only beginning it. I showed that our every desire was proportionate, or improportionate mimicry of the mediator of our existence- Reality- that we either love and admire our Mediator, or else envy and despise it- and either admire and befriend it- or attempt to usurp it hatefully.

We often think of Reality as something misty, or indefinite- perhaps rightly so- in some cases. We cannot define it entirely without aid- often it seems a mystery- that which we know enough about- to be fascinated by.

When I pray to Dear Saint Philomena- the child Martyr- forever frozen in time in countless images, and such beauty shown in my mind, and heart- such a boldly beautiful heart, and body and soul; such youth and vigor- yet wisdom in youth, and fascination with True Beauty! When I do so- I am admitting the truth that God has honoured her, and am pleasing to him in this action.

Oddly- the more I live, believe, and manifest in truth- the more pure, the more refined, and healthy my soul feels. The truth not only sets you free- but is freedom itself- the cloud we float on, the pink and purple and blue smoke which carries us on the back of a steam train- as we amazedly realize that in morals at least- the impossible is made but easy, or oft simply viable.

I use my sorrow, and combine it with hope to clean out the faults in my very existence- within my unseen part- my conductor to God- my soul.

Somehow- truth is like breath- like cool mountain air, or snow upon my cheek. It encompasses my self in light and in hope- in protecting it I become a warrior of epic danger, not through violence- but though using the truth itself. When I hope- this warm steam, or smoke perhaps- becomes like a river, sustaining me- and pulling my heart along, and I float effortlessly down- even past rapids- always pulled beyond all enmity into greater currents of hope through truth.

Now- when I die- what do I have- I do not have my human form- my soul perhaps- but what truly do I have- the ultimate treasure I desire is not to ask God this or that- we will know these things- but rather to drink from the fountain of truth, to drown in her endless lake- her ocean- to float on her pure white wings, and speak and be nothing but truth.

When I die- my comfort is in that God is the Truth- he is our mediator, our existence- he is Truth- the frame, the bubble in which we come to be. I dearly love truth- and this is the pull within that we must always hear. Faith without reason is but superstition- it is worth less than an illusion of being. Reason without faith is hardly reason. Faith is the light by which we know the source of all things- the pregnant truth, whose imagination gave birth to the world.

And so I dive deep into the well of truth, into the lake within the well- surrounded by a high wall. I once thought these infinite steep walls but- the confines of a well, yet the closer one comes- and the more one falls from their side into the lake- and by mountains within, the more we see they are boundaries to an infinite universe- a nation beyond all and every map, a just land beyond impossibility itself, and encomapassing all who live within its grasp. The well has become a lake- fed by a small stream- which gradually becomes infinite- and I dive deep- having long since ceased to breathe- and push my way upstream always forcing my way forward. I have learned to breathe in and out truth- and air itself is not the same- nor is water- as compare the infinite living water which is truth.

Let us not aim at what is purely of benefit- nor aim at living just but inches within the border of truth- next to the waring nations nearby- except should we be assigned as a border post handler- even so- let us buy the best estate- in the very center of truth- and cover ourselves in blankets of truth, closing curtains of truth, and lying in the bed of truth- while allowing the truth to rain on the roof of our small infinite house from beyond, as we bow down to the living word- and worship our nation- the mediator of our existence- God himself whom we must adore.