It is a phantasm, the desire of a desire. There is always the creeping matter of subjectivity, the self-centeredness of personal preference. I want poverty, but I do not want it to be so poor. I can say that I want us to be stripped bare, cut open, letting blood, not counting the cost. But in the end, my heart is small and selective, and I cannot accept this ocean into it. I can only sieve what I think will nourish. 

You really do die as you’ve lived, is what I’ve realized. If you lived as a stranger to everyone, you’ll die as a stranger to everyone. You’ll be buried in a stranger’s suit, made up with a stranger’s face, and arrive before the Lord with a heart as locked up and closed off as it was your whole life. And He’ll give you one look over and say,  “I do not know you,” and close the Gates.