We are made with a longing to look upon the face of God.  This is our hope; this is our fulfillment.  What eternal frustration to reject that for which we are made.

We catch a glimpse of  souls on the way to hell, frolicking and laughing in apparent merriment, quipping “How dull a place, heaven.”  Self-satisfied and mocking, they murmur one to the other, “Give me the place of movers and shakers”; “Yes, a place for interesting, unbridled, minds.” “Amen, a place for unleashed and raw emotion.”

Dante has the hell-bent, running in constant activity after a banner upon which nothing is written. To what end the writhing corruption of sin, the lust for feeling until nothing is felt at all.

We are made for so much more.