Belief

My existential problem. I am in a room and I would like to be in another room, a previous room. The room of a comforting existence of GOD with angels. That room is nice. But I cannot believe that room anymore. It is, but at the same time it has fallen from the truth. Truth has become so much bigger. The comfortable room has been swallowed by that bigger truth and been digested. It has become an excretion of the digestive system of this bigger truth. I am in the walls of that bigger, emptier truth which, I suspect, will one day be digested in an even bigger truth. I do not like the room I am in now. I want to go back and in going back I will go immeasurably forward into an even larger, even emptier truth. A truth so large I will not find the furniture. I want to go back to that smaller room. But in that room are people that I do not really like for their eating of the excretion of an old truth which is, only by sheer will. They eat off the street of belief.