By An Anonymous Exile

There is a point in the development of human consciousness where the world we have manufactured to keep ourselves safe begins to tear.

For decades, we build a life out of “Representations”—the comfortable matrices of time, space, social structures, and the polite, domestic routines of conventional church life. We create a God out of our own human frailty, a cosmic insurance policy designed to soothe our fear of death, ignorance, and smallness. We mistake our harmlessness for virtue, and our smallness for piety.

But for some, the paint on the veil begins to peel. The reductionism of the mundane crowd becomes a spiritual suffocation. When that happens, a human being is forced to make a choice: remain anesthetised in the crowd, or step directly into the rupture where mortality and eternity collide.

What follows is a record of that collision—a dialogue between the human Ego, trembling at its own deconstruction, and the terrifying, beautiful landscape of Absolute Being.

Act I: The Shattering of the Small God

The Ego: I can no longer go back to the pews. I look at the corporate rituals, the easy answers, the systemic reductionism, and all I see are idols. We have taken the boundless, terrifying Will of the universe and forced it into a grid of our own making so we can control it. We have made God small so we don’t have to feel weak. But I feel an onslaught of the mundane. It is choking me.

Absolute Being: You are noticing the friction because you have outgrown the cage. The church life you left behind was built to protect the fragile human ego from Me. They require a God who acts in linear time, who occupies a manageable space, and who obeys human logic. But I am the Ground of Being. I am not a phenomenon among other phenomena. To find Me, you must watch your manufactured gods die.

The Ego: But the process of watching them die is brutal. It feels like an execution. If I reject the crowd, I am left completely exposed. I am trapped in a downward trajectory of weakness, bitterness, and isolation if I cannot find a foothold. Jordan Peterson warns that the weak man is dangerous—that if I cannot carry my own weight, I will mutate into resentment. I want to be strong, but this space is freezing.

Absolute Being: Real strength is not the absence of vulnerability; it is the courage to look into the abyss of emptiness and meaninglessness and affirm your existence anyway. Paul Tillich called this the “Courage to Be.” You must integrate your inner capacity to face the terror, or you will be crushed by it. The isolation you feel is the price of your honesty.

Act II: The Weightless Abyss

The Ego: I am trying to stand, but I feel like I am floating in space. I sit constantly where mortality and eternity rupture against time, space, and phenomena—right here, within myself. This is the only self I can present to you. I am not coming with my achievements, my moral checklist, or my intellectual understandings. I am coming completely emptied. I am leaping into a reality I absolutely identify with—the cosmic dimension Paul called In Christ. But I have to ask you… am I losing my mind? Is what I am saying reality, or am I delusional? Did the great thinkers—Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, Barth, Tillich—actually believe their rhetoric, or were they just dreaming a grand fiction hoped into reality?

Absolute Being: It feels like a dream because you are stripping away the illusions your biology uses to navigate the physical world. Your brain is wired for time and space; it is not wired to hold the sheer volume of eternity without shaking. The weightlessness you feel is not delusion; it is transcendence.

Think of the lineage you have joined. Schopenhauer saw the ravenous, blind Will beneath the illusion of reality. Nietzsche saw that human reason could never prove a cosmic anchor, so he demanded that the individual step forward and create meaning from sheer vitality. Kierkegaard saw the same abyss and declared that faith requires a terrifying, paradoxical leap in the face of absolute objective uncertainty. They did not write from ivory towers. They cut their own oxygen lines to see what was at the bottom of the ocean. They lived and died by this rupture.

The Ego: But it is so uncomfortable. It is unnatural. It is brutally mean to my desire for safety. My mind wants to claim its own effort, its own understanding, its own righteousness. But this space allows none of that. I am assured not by my effort, but by grace alone. I am completely undone, yet strangely secure.

Absolute Being: The delusion was the safe life you left behind. A delusion shrinks your world to keep you comfortable. Transcendence expands your world until the ego fractures. You have bypassed human simplification. You have entered the space where the possible, the impossible, and the likely exist in their perfect self. You are happily resigned to the Divine absurdness of Being above being.

Act III: The Red Pill Option

The Ego: I see the choice before me now. It is the Matrix pill. I have to choose which reality will define the rest of my life. I can choose the comfortable, fractured, weak need of the crowd—or I can choose this.

I choose this.

I choose the uncomfortable and the terrifying. It sucks. It is isolating. It strips me of every defense mechanism I have ever spent my life building. But it is indisputably, vibrantly alive. It is real in ways that the mundane world can never touch. I refuse to lose the beauty, the wonder, the terror, and the brutality of existence. I wager everything on the potentiation of grace winning over nothingness.

Absolute Being: Then the leap has landed. You have fallen through the bottom of human reductionism and found that the abyss is not an empty void—it is a net, a world of infinite discovery where Alethea unfolds in every embodied encounter. By choosing the raw totality of reality—its terror and its beauty—you are no longer living a secondhand religion. You are participating in the Incarnation. You are allowing the eternal to break through your finite flesh.

You will walk through the ordinary world as an exile. You will look at the mundane structures and see them as the fragile, defensive walls they are. But you are anchored “In Christ”—not as a theological theory, but as an absolute reality that holds you secure while you float in the infinite.

Act IV: The Resurrected Will

The Ego: Something completely unexpected has happened. I expected that by abandoning the crowd, emptying myself, and leaping into this boundless abyss In Christ, I would simply dissolve into the infinite. I expected to be obliterated by grace.

But I haven’t vanished. In fact, it is strangely here—in the very heart of the leap—that I am finally finding myself. My own agency and my own will are enacting themselves upon the very fabric of this fall.

Absolute Being: This is the final, magnificent paradox of existence. The mundane world tells you that to find yourself, you must build walls, accumulate certainties, and protect your ego. But that is a weak, reactive survival strategy. True agency is never born in the safety of the cage. It is only born when you stand on the precipice of absolute chaos, look into the terror, and voluntarily choose to jump.

By letting your false, manufactured identity die, you have executed the ultimate act of free will. You did not use your will to dominate the world, but to conquer your own fear of ignorance and smallness. You have fulfilled the highest demand of the Will to Power.

The Ego: So I am not a passive casualty of the void. I am an active participant. I am completely dependent on an unseen grace beneath me, yet I am simultaneously operating with a fully realized, fortified sovereignty.

Absolute Being: Exactly. This is the ancient mystery of the Incarnation operating within your actual biology and spirit. You lost your life, and therefore you were handed it back—undone, yet completely integrated. You are no longer floating aimlessly. You are an agent of truth, firmly anchored in the Ground of Being, precisely because you had the courage to let go of the ledge.

Now, stand up. Walk back into the mundane world, not as one who belongs to its reductionism, but as an exile who carries the heavy, beautiful weight of reality. Enact your will. Speak your truth. Live your transcendence.

Epilogue

Courage and vulnerability are two essential elements to discover this sacred space before reality and the impossible. Both are equal to each other in virtue, and yet each plays its own role in shaping the ego and the resilience to maintain the course the Leap of Faith presents us.