This multi-layered approach points toward an ultimate eschatological purpose: that all our human experiences—whether listening, feeling, perceiving—are ultimately directed toward transforming us into the likeness of Christ, thereby fulfilling God's eternal and divine plan (see Ephesians 1:11; Romans 8:28). Yet, within this journey, human beings are naturally prone to uncertainty and doubt, which can lead to a kind of spiritual disorientation or vertigo—an unsettling sense that we cannot fully grasp or trust in the divine promise. Here, it is crucial to understand desire—not as a flaw or a sign of weakness—but as a gift from God, rooted deeply within the human soul (Augustine, *Confessions* 10.27.38). This desire is restless, a divine seed that will remain unsatisfied until it finds its ultimate fulfillment in God Himself. The imagery of "fanning the desire" suggests divine stirring—a mutual longing where our seeking of the Word is met by God's own seeking of our hearts (Psalm 139:23; Hebrews 4:12). This divine-human dance elevates eros—an intense longing—into agape—the pure, self-giving love that elevates us beyond our own limits. The "single voice" heard amidst layered truths echoes the Thomistic understanding of being itself: God's unchanging essence shines through the manifold and contingent expressions of creation, guiding the seeker from superficial intellectual dependence into a mystical union with the divine. Consider first the manner in which God addresses us. The "direct voice"—like God's prophetic call in Scripture (for example, Exodus 3:4; Acts 9:4)—stands in contrast to the indirect signs and circumstances through which God’s providence unfolds, arranging the world as a divine drama (see Calvin’s *Institutes* 1.5.8, where creation is described as a theater revealing God's glory). These layers are not mutually exclusive but complementary: the direct voice as proclamation—an irruptive, definitive declaration of truth—and the indirect signs as a gentle, ongoing teaching through everyday events. This layered approach to truth reflects the ancient doctrine of Scripture’s multiple senses (Origen’s *De Principiis* 4.2.4–9; Aquinas’s *Summa Theologica* I, q. 1, a. 10), where the literal meaning opens into allegorical, moral, and anagogical depths—each a step toward spiritual enlightenment, illuminated by the Spirit. As the Spirit reveals, the encounter with the Word becomes a prism through which divine light is refracted, bringing Scripture alive within the heart’s experience (John 6:63; 2 Corinthians 3:6). This layered illumination prevents retreat into complacency, guiding us along the "single path" of divine presence. The longing for "greater transparency" points toward the journey of sanctification—moving from veiled revelation to the full face-to-face encounter with God (1 Corinthians 13:12; 2 Corinthians 3:18). To rely solely on our intellectual comprehension risks idolizing human finiteness; instead, the Spirit invites us into a pneumatic hermeneutic—an interpretation rooted in the Spirit’s activity—where Scripture and circumstances converge in Christ, drawing us into the divine dance of perichoresis. Here, we are not isolated but drawn into the divine life itself—where all effects, whether apparent or mysterious, serve the divine purpose: conformity to Christ. Reflecting on the many facets of divine truth and the various ways it is communicated calls for careful, prayerful examination—both within theology and hermeneutics. Central to this is the question of how God's self-revelation interacts with human understanding—not as a straightforward fact but as a complex, layered tapestry of divine disclosures, each unfolding in dialogue with the listener’s own experience. Drawing from Augustine’s teachings and the Reformed tradition, divine communication is neither uniform nor static; it is a dynamic illumination—what might be called a divine light—that the Spirit gradually reveals, transforming the seeker into the likeness of Christ (Romans 8:29; 2 Corinthians 3:18). Yet, this process involves paradoxes: human finiteness creates tension between what we perceive as necessary and the mysterious sovereignty of God, prompting us to approach knowledge with humility—akin to Pascal’s wager—placing our trust in faith amid uncertainty. This "aporia"—the philosophical and spiritual tension—arises from confusing our longing for divine fulfillment with the overwhelming experience of divine ravishment—the joy of divine encounter that can be both exhilarating and bewildering. In God's pedagogical design, our spiritual need is not a sign of deficiency but an invitation to dependence (Matthew 5:3; Psalm 42:1–2). We seek not mastery over divine truth but trust—faith that rests in what is unknowable and inscrutable. As Kierkegaard explores in *Philosophical Fragments*, truth is not a conquerable proposition but a subjective embrace—a leap of faith—where the unknown becomes an invitation rather than an obstacle. The simple longing within us echoes Barth’s understanding of divine self-revelation in Christ: God reveals Himself not because we have earned it but because of His sovereign love, choosing to love us first and foremost, fully aware of all our limitations (Isaiah 46:10; 1 John 4:19). This divine ravishment—free from strings or obligations—is part of the process of becoming divine ourselves, achieved not through mastery but through trusting dependence—hope rooted in God's faithfulness, even when our hearts tremble (Romans 5:5). In this divine economy, opacity transforms into assurance; the face of God—though initially hidden—draws nearer through trust and grace, leading ultimately to the consummation—the face-to-face communion where divine fullness is revealed in eternal union.