Have you ever run from your house, thrown up your arms to the sky and cried, "I want to know!" and run back inside for a book that the universe has put on your book shelf? If you are awake even minutely, you run back outside to the sky and cry out, "That's not what I mean. That's for kids. I want to know the truth! I want to know how life works, where I am going, who God is and whether my life means anything!" You feel the veils inside your heart darkening your sense of the way things are, and you start tugging at them as if they were rags worn by street urchins. "Please, God, at least give me something nice to wear, something that shines with truth and radiates love so that everybody who sees me knows that you exist. But if you would, God, I would really rather be without any of these things, without the pretty veils of worldly stories, of sweet notions of who you are. I would rather be alone with you without anything between us. That's what I want to know, God. What it's like just you and me. That will do."