So deep and hollowing is my desire, that it drowns me in oceans of despair, vast wastelands of loneliness and frail vision. I cry out, oft straining under the burden, bitter tears and empty-hands. How great my desire to touch the plan - not a plan of writing in ink on paper, with pages and pages of legal footnotes, not a plan that kills and squanders the spirit - but a plan written with Spirit by spirit, His life on mine. My soul thirsts and pants for the real and better life, more full and real than I've ever dreamed. I want to feel and experience and commune with the living, personal God, forgetting - abandoning! - the dry, tasteless, chiseled-stone and textbook god of dictionaries and theologies and philosophies; I want to forfeit the obsolete god-legislation for a God who blinds my eyes and makes my spirit salivate. So I cry out for a wide-open and spacious life. I don't want my love, my faith, my worship and passion and ideas to be fenced in; I no longer want to feel small - for our lives are not small, we just live them in small ways: it chokes us of uniqueness, originality, the who-we-are, the who-God-made-us. I want to open up my life to myself, to others, to God. The desire - aching in the marrow of my fragile bones - is a desire to be more alive, more loving, more concerned, more sensitive, more reverent, more human, more passionate, more responsible. My desire - the desire I so log to touch - is to divorce my head, have an affair with my heart - to experience the real God, and to live the experience.