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Who He Is
The Bible lies. That sacred text was no more than the whim of God. It was taken up by humans, and completed, and proliferated, and it created a religion that ruled centuries and killed thousands. The fingers of God touched no more than the first few pages. The Bible lies. The first day light and darkness, the second day water and sky—or so it said. But that was not how the universe was created. In the beginning there was only God, and nothing more. He was existence—He was all of existence, and that single point that was God held all that would be. In the beginning, God was the singularity. His existence was nothing—there was too much in a single place at once, it was overwhelming, and He could not form thoughts or hold ideas. There was no time, yet for a very long time the universe was nothing more than unformed being and white noise. And then there came a single thought: I want this no longer. In one instant there was nothing and in the next there was everything as the singularity lost its form and became the universe. The explosion was something terrible. In seconds that seemed to be years the energy that had been the singularity spread and solidified—quarks photons neutrinos electrons protons neutrons elements. In the time that followed the planets and stars, the days and nights, the lands, the waters, all created themselves. God watched this process, and He marveled at it. He felt energy, He breathed it—and then He discovered that He was a being, He was a body, He was a self. Like a newborn child He delighted in His being: in the movement of His fingers, in the joints of His spine, in the fall of His hair. His heart beat and His lungs filled themselves, yet there was no blood and no air. He was perfect, and He was immortal, immune, and no danger could touch Him. And He had power—how the power thrilled Him. With a gaze, He could make the ground boil into lava. At the touch of a fingertip rocks would crumble. At a thought He could move from planet to planet, from galaxy to galaxy. God could dance from star to star, and He loved it. Life took its time in coming to existence. As God discovered Himself and His creation, cells became, and plants became, and finally animals became. God found those creatures most interesting. They existed—and yet they died. They had so few powers. They required sustenance, and they suffered from pains, and they were fragile weak things. Yet their form, their textures, their features were varied and great, and for some time He studied them and raised them and kept them. And then there came the thinking creatures. They began so few and far apart, and they were beautiful rarities. Those beings could communicate, and they could enjoy, and they could want. Those beings stood nearer to God than any creatures He had yet seen. Those beings could think. But God could not touch them. Those beings that possessed souls were the only things beyond His reach. Many died as He tried to touch them—in shock and in horror—but no matter His efforts He could not stop His touch from passing though their skin. He tried again and again. He was always unsuccessful. God traveled now with a purpose, intent of finding a way to touch His most precious creations—but it was in vain. From planet to planet He went, and there was no answer on any of them, for there was no secret that God did not already know. And then, as God rested for a time among His tangible lower creations, the answer came to Him very naturally, for it had been within Him the entire time. It was: Make them a part of Me. That, of course, was the solution. But there was a catch, as there always is. With the solution came one more thought: This will destroy the planet on which the being resides. The thought of destruction was no worry to God. He had killed many times and seen much death. Death, to him, was no more than an experiment, a test, a reality to be observed in others. It did not touch Him. It did not scare Him. He is as unafraid as a child with a future, as unafraid as the naïve. The warning of a death was only a warning that He must choose well, for once He had chosen the planet would be gone forever. God set out to find a creation worthy of being His. In His searching He found the angels, and He was proud of them—for they stood even higher than the sentient creatures, and He could touch them. But God was on a mission, in search of His perfect being, and He bypassed the angels. He found creations with wings, and creatures that lived in liquid, and beings that did not breathe—and then He found Earth. Humans amazed Him, for no other people are so similar to Him as they were. They were still unrefined, still untaught, but they were fascinating. They interested Him, and so He stayed on Earth. It was then that God began the Bible, and those few pages created a new era of progress and refinement. He was arbitrary, He was inconsistent, He was merely telling stories. It was for His own amusement that He played the role of Jesus. Hundreds of years passed, and humans grew taller and wiser. He was able to be one of them, and He passed His days creating and watching and walking among them. He enjoyed them as He had enjoyed countless races before: in observation, in experimentation, in so many little games just like the ones that He plays now. Sometimes, He will be silent and merely add up every action in His mind. Sometimes, He will twist and contort and crack a soul simply to see His own power and the mortal response. It is always something, and after all these years, these centuries, He still will do things that I cannot comprehend. To Him, existence is a study and a toy, and nothing more. Like a child, He just wants to see what comes next. When the twenty-first century came upon Him, He delighted in technology. Then, one day as He wandered though London with the humans, He saw a beautiful young boy—and that was me. I have told the story of the times to follow before and I will not tell it again. It is known that God destroyed all of life on Earth, and it is known that He loves me with holy power. Now, I want only for the story of Our Father to be told—His birth, His existence—so that it is clear He is not good and not divine, but that He is a being with the strongest will and the most terrifying wants. He does not know why the power is His, He does not question it, He only uses it to its fullest. One day the universe may end, and God may return to His larval stage as the singularity, and then maybe all of this will begin again. For now it does not matter, for there are always more races to see and more lands to set foot on and more words to share with God. It is the angels that fascinate Him now—He has never had the chance to explore and understand them before. I stay by His side. Remember God is a child. As he creates His religions, as He pretends to be a messiah, as He acts wise and divine, remember that He is a cold, cruel child. Someone must remember the hundreds of sins that He has committed, and someone must remember all of the wrongs He has done. Someone must, for I can find only fascination in His stories. Too easily, I forget His cruelty and remember only the secrets He knows. Too often I overlook His evils to imagine the beauty of the big bang. Someone must remember for me. |