Sunday, February 3, 2019

Dear God, you see me. You see into me. I stand exposed in the noon sun, without secret and without cover. The tissue of illusion in which I clothe myself, and which I drape over the world around me, burns away.

What is left, Lord, is what is true. Bedrock. I stand upon it.

As I move out from here, as I act in the world, let me speak only truth. Let me see only what is real. Let me do only what you call.

Lord! You see through me. Let me, as your child, see through the paper wrappings of circumstance, and into its foundations.

(Letter #1485)