In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or religious institution in you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, close your eyes and ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Faith.” The worker will look at you in abstract confusion, shake his head, and go back to his work.
If you wait for three full minutes, he will sigh and walk you to a custodian’s closet. He will lead you inside and lock you there. The door will not open, and it will be pitch black. Slowly the darkness will begin to describe, in the brightest of white words, in a language you have never read and voices you have never heard, speaking the foulest blasphemies your body can withstand.
Should the soliloquy ever stop, fall to your knees and clasp your hands, screaming every prayer you know. If the writing does not continue, curse the god that has put you into existence.
If the writing does continue, stand quickly and race down the tunnel. There the tunnel will open up into a large dome, and you will see a young girl in white, staring at you with her hair fallen down into her face. Do not look at your hands, or they will peel the flesh from your bones. She will respond to only one question: “Why do they fear?”
She will look up to you and her mouth will blurt out every wrong that has ever occurred in the name of a god, and some that you must believe happened beyond your reality. She will then fall to the ground screaming in horrible agony as she is consumed by a white flame.
That ash is Object 36 of 538. It will one day be mixed with yours.