The personification of God, of the Creator, of the Universe, even, are all exercises in futility. Religion has attempted to make sense from that which cannot be understood, has sought to tell stories from things that have no beginning and no end. To question the will of the Creator is sacrosanct; to assign morality or logic to their whims, to try and force abstraction upon something some unfathomably foreign, is heresy.
And yet here we are.
Generally speaking there are two major themes within religious canon. The former seeks to humanize the Creator, to assign qualities like vice and lust and wrath and pity to forces so wildly powerful, so inconceivably omniscient, that the very exercise seems juvenile and stupid once you get halfway through it. The latter is agnostic in the sense that it refuses to do much of anything to the Creator; the will of the divine, is, understandably, far too great for feeble minds such as ours to understand, let alone interpret. Better to accept our blessings as they come and be thankful for our tragedies as they pass, lest they zealously return ten-fold.
The arguments between the two aforementioned camps have raged ad nauseam since man could first speak. But we are not here to discuss the philosophical merits of either tendency.
We are here to observe the Creator, in all of their divine glory.
To say that the Creator was powerful would be an understatement. The Creator is a being, if one could even call them that, of immense potency and strength. The cosmos twinkled to life at their whim and life found itself sprinkled across a hundred billion worlds, embraced by the warmth of a thousand trillion stars. The Creator is eternal. The Creator is time itself. The Creator is made manifest through the dew drops of green leaves, they exist in the sweetness of fresh honeydew. They roam in the fields where the lions go to hunt, they live in the bleating hearts of felled quarry.
All of Creation is the Creator, and the Creator is all of Creation. The universe exerts itself through the will of man and beast alike. It lives a trillion billion lives simultaneously, an entire ecosystem of light and synapses and fire, a veritable chorus of death and pestilence, of fertility and procreation.
God lives with the souls of men. Every sin committed against man is a sin committed against oneself. Every act of charity is a gift unto oneself. All of Creation exists to serve itself, to violate itself, to live symbiotically among its own bounties.
It is this fundamental truth that haunts those who have seen a glimpses of their inner selves, who ponder the machinations of their own souls. There comes a point when man realizes that he is his brother and his betrayer, his accomplice and his enemy. The Truth paralyzes them, strikes them dumb and deaf.
How am I supposed to hate myself? How does one deny themselves of the joy and happiness they seem to inherently seek? What good is war and jealously when we are all part of the machine, when we are all the same machine?
Listless, rudderless, uncertain and apathetic, these souls drift like flotsam into the darkened void, trapped within the recesses of their own minds. Abstraction after abstraction is destroyed, peeled away, like the layers of an onion. What is left is the hollow realization that they are nothing more than fools trying to understand themselves. Atoms studying atoms. Gods worshiping themselves.
Is it heresy to understand this? To admit that the universe manifests itself as individuals, who then in turn seek to understand the universe? All of reality is introspection and nonsense! An Ouroboros of reflection and realization. Of forgetting and remembering. Of birth and baptism.
What, then, is to be done? Well, what then can be done? What should be done?
Why should anything be done at all? Things have been like this since anyone first noticed it. What good is there in trying to change something that’s already set in motion?
And so the Creator spoke on the last day: Weave and cross, tangle the fates of men and beasts forevermore. Let nothing be isolated and let everything be alone.
Who are we to question the will of gods?
