What is a God?
That is the Question we all ponder as soon as we're old enough to comprehend such a Question. What is a God?
I was 13 when I first asked my parents this Question, seeking understanding. And so they told me that the Gods are all-powerful beings that must be worshipped, for They are the providers and caretakers of the land. But surely if They are all-powerful They do not require our worship? A God should not care what an ant thinks. Nevertheless, I went to bed, satisfied. And it was only later that night I woke up again, wondering. What is a God?
I was 18 when I went and asked the village priest that question, openly, in front of the congregation. "Blasphemer", they called me. And so was I exiled, banished, driven out, leaving only me to ask myself the Question. And so I told myself that a God is a cruel, vengeful creature, one that only cares about themselves. But surely a God would not feel such mortal emotions? A God should not feel anything like a mortal does. Nevertheless, I carried on, satisfied with my answer. And it was only later, as I walked, that the Question crept back into my mind. What is a God?
I was 24 when I went to my boss and asked him the Question. Perhaps an outside view could answer. And so he told me that the Gods are the bestowers of wealth, choosing the worthiest to gain, while others lose. But surely a God has no value for such trinkets? A God should not care about material things. Nevertheless, I got back to work, satisfied and angry with my answer. And it was only as I finished up for the day and left that the Question imposed itself upon me once more. What is a God?
I was 31 when I met my first God and asked him that fateful Question. And so it told me that a God is what you make of it, for their avatars are as subject to the views of others as any mortal is. And how right and wrong they were. Nevertheless, I walked away, satisfied with the answer I had received. And it was only later, as I dined in one of the finest restaurants in the realms, that the Question occurred to me. What is a God?
I was 37 when I began to ask myself the Question, for I wished to be independent of the masses, sheeplike as they are. And so I told myself that a God is one who exists beyond Form, beyond thought. Inconceivable and incomprehensible. And how right and wrong I was. Nevertheless, I stopped thinking for the time being, satisfied that my answer was right. And it was only later, as I sat alone, that the Question entered my thoughts once again. What is a God?
I was 45 when I asked the world the Question, for I had since rejoined it. And so I was told that the Gods are the creators of the Omniverse, of humanity, of Creation itself, for the Gods were living embodiments of what it meant to create, for what it meant to destroy. And how right and wrong they were. Nevertheless, I left, satisfied with the answer I had been given. And once again, it was only later that the Question snuck its way back into my head. WHAT IS A GOD!?
I was 60 when I realized the Answer to the Question. A God is the bloated corpse of hope. A God is the giver of life. A God is the death of all. A God is the endless end, the eternal beginning, the creator, the destroyer. A God is hope without answer, purpose without application, everything and nothing, your biggest fears and greatest hopes, all of it and none of it simultaneously, and yet infinitely more. Yet this is all but a fraction of what a God truly is.
What is a God but Absolute Eternity?