I feel a need to create, but there is no true necessity. I'm not driven to do so for income, as many before me have done, nor do I do it out of a genuine desire to convey. In fact now that I think of it I most likely take it as a diversion, but still not a certain, special kind of diversion that arises from inordinate wealth, that compels imaginative minds suffering from an excess of boredom to indulge in writting letters. Because while my situation is surely comfortable as to outer appearances, inside my character I find no desire for base appeasement but see stifled longing for something I do not yet know. I may hope to bridge from here to the eternal with these, to eat the food that my soul so desires. And I know it to be God, but I haven't found him. I haven't for I did not seek. And to seek makes me afraid. I don't want to take the leap only then to to find that there will be no net. I fear crashing right into the ground, and even if the fall ends up not killing me, going through the rest of my life a miserable man, broken to every bone. I stand at the edge contemplating the leap I'll eventually have to make, be it at my deathbed, even. And I'm sure that there are many others like me walking the earth today.
 But see, I feel a necessity to leap. I am compelled, by inner drives or tendencies unimaginable. Some do not feel the need to jump at all. And I can't fathom it. I see them as freaks. While fitting perfectly and arranging things themselves, they come accross as freaks to my eyes. And it is true, that to take the façade as the interior may not be so accurate; that in order to truly understand, it must be trusted to you; and, even then, that in the transfer it loses some meaning, and that to some it'll never be given at all. But oh how convinced do you sometimes become, how certain do you get, of when, by chance, you get a good glimpse of what's inside. When you see the structure crumbling, or when the balustrades fall off.
 And yet therein lies another concealment, one that I can't translate to my former analogy -- that of interpersonal relations. How we can be snakes to some and deer to others. How some are naturally so and so, How someone became like this after that, and all of life's intricacies that continually shape and remodel us. So we take the soul to be unifying. That the rags and sticthes we're made out of preserve within something of pure cohesion, to us almost indescribable. For to be unchanging belongs to God, and is not the soul the aspect of ours more attuned to him? So it has been said, and written, and to repeat it gives comfort, feels right. That despite all of our shortcomings we hold immutable one piece of what matters most. How unbearable would it be to forsake it. To drown in your own self-conceit. It is a path taken by many, granted. To them such feels liberating. But our sides' preponents say that it is our position who holds freedom the most, as it has been stated by many. I see it as, having taken the path of abandonment, this sort of profane rebirth -- the only avenue left would be that of building a lasting legacy on earth -- all we have, as per them -- and working towards it unceasingly. For as it is central to the christian to attain eternal life -- itself only a byproduct of what the true goal should be -- to the deniers of transcendentality there should be only the goal of reclaiming that immortality robbed from them by their own selves. Being not fully commited yet, that may be why I write. But the goal stands.
 On the other hand, sit deniers who would rather have it their own way -- rather than strive with defiance they lead things all by themselves. Their self as the supreme deity; Their aims and ambitions serving only to satisfy themselves. Those have been known for very long, and they revel such in the material that they have lost any capacity to see beyond. While their betters in category still think as muchas to what'll be left of them when they die, these peoples' concerns regarding death are also material; "When I die there'll be no more me any longer -- therefore, I do not wish to die!". Concerned with the act itself, their lives are a long build up towards their end, and the spoils in the way are all for taking, solely for pleasing the self. This not meaning, necessarily, that we fit in one of those groups precisely. Did I not mention we were stitches and rags? But much as the soul srives for that which it has left, so should you strive for a divine mix of the two. Leave good, long lasting works and impressions in the material in your wake, but only those that may serve to compound the soul's journey, for that takes precedence. Do not insist yours does more.