Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.

I’ve seen God, if only his hands. I’ve also seen Prester Bane, who is without a face. I try to be consistent in the path of conditions that seek to sour my heart. I’m pure in my eyes. They are intended to see, but recently seem unable to love. When I observe love in the trials of my life, I see people who share more in a glance than I share in fifteen blog entries. Nothing gets past me, but I can’t offer an answer for my favorite questions. I don’t know why I’m here; I know only what everyone else will show me. I can see God in his word and in hands whose example I seek to follow, but my affections remain aloof from me. Unfortunately, the more I temper my anger with scripture, common love falls away from me. I’m left with my thoughts and a quest for mercy in the face of uncommon love: the kind of love that follows around the thirsty with a bucket of water while doubting salvation out of sheer loneliness. Adam gave a rib long before nakedness meant sex.