We are unclean, every last one of us. Not because of anything we have done, but simply by virtue of who we are: creatures who ooze insecurity, anger, and paranoia. We have endured this affliction ever since that first moment when consciousness emerged in the tiny brains of distant ancestors on some African plain. We awoke to something overwhelming, and it produced a stain that we seem unable to wash away, no matter our centuries worth of ritual, prayer, and art. And yet, it is all an illusion, a trick in our overheated minds that constantly mistakes "reality" for what is real. We are blind, not unclean, and our Parent is eager to restore our sight. But they also know that we need to make the first move, we must crave healing, and therein lies the challenge. How many of us wallow in our supposed filth, because it feels easier to subsist in the dirt, rather than live in the light? How often do we gaze upon our world, soak in its pain and misery, and think to ourselves that joy and love are nothing more than fairy tales? Who among us is bold and brave enough to kneel before God and beg to see all that truly is? Will you turn to Them in your time of darkness, and be filled with the light of grace?