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Some people present the idea of a God as a father figure to humanity rather than a Creator, and more of a human-like being rather than a being of pure energy or something more esoteric.
Why would a god even have a physical form? Should he choose to manifest in his own world he made? Should he? Humanity was born into a world of sights and smells from the creativity of a man who has never felt these before. Would he feel jealous? Like a human crafting a world where you feel nothing but ecstasy and happiness placing his words on paper. A man would only feel jealousy for the world if he crafted it out of want and need and not because he merely wished to write something positive.
God is not writing on parchment, and he is not human (if he did not make us in His image). Does he want to live in our world? Some say that God or at least a fragment of an Angel is inside of all of us, that all are capable of Good. Yet, the inverse is also true. The capability for evil is more rampant than ever and some even feel inclined to act upon Evil rather than Good, as it is easier.
It is easier to cave a mans head in than offer support, that is clear. But why would you ever cave his head in? Why would you ever help him?
There is no clear reason to want to do this other than a primal instinct. People are always saying that humanity should think more and not rely on primality, but if you do so, you exchange this for coldness. Why would you want that? Are you cold?
I don't want to be cold.
Do you?
Some people say that god is afraid of us. Fearing that our power will one day rival his own, as there are many of us and one of him. Some also say that he is made in our image, so we will reap his power one day.
I am afraid of that day. I do not think I would be able to wield it, as he was Great, and I am, and never will be something as amazing. He made us, all of us, he made me happy, yet I can not make anyone happy. I fear for everyone here. I want everyone to be happy and warm, yet I can not wave a single hand.
Favoritism, pessimism. All these 'isms' that I do not want to even begin to understand. Nonsense among nonsense piled onto piles and piles of nonsense. The want for everyone to be happy and feel that they belong is a feeling that I fear only I have, and nobody else does.
I may be too empathetic, perhaps even weak. Hatred among hatred piled onto piles of hatred. I do not want to hate, yet I do. Are there conflicting personalities inside my head? No. I feel whole, yet fractured into many pieces that can communicate with each other and understand their words and sentences and sounds and smells perfectly yet they just can't put their words onto parchment or shape the ink on their feather into a nice little image to show emotion.
I want to make a masterpiece, I truly do, yet I just can't. I have so many things to show everyone, so many vistas and emotions to perfect and turn into an image that can just embed into the viewers brain like a bloody parasite. I want to share things, show them.
Yet I can't.
And yet, when I forget about this.
I am perfectly fine. Why is that? Why can I shift into these conflicting porcelain masks?
Porcelain is a fickle subject, is it something akin to ceramic? A fired version of clay?
How do people find about this anyway? It's all so interesting.
I'm ranting.
Dear reader, I apologize to you for wasting your time. All that I want to say is that whatever is waiting at the afterlife, or perhaps at the end of life, I want to say to all of those that I inconvenienced, made unhappier, or perhaps even killed a heartfelt apology.
And all those whom I made their life a little more bearable, a little happier perhaps at even a microscopic instant of a millisecond…
I don't really have words for all of you. I love you? No, that comes off strange.
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Thank you, God god creator father
Thank you, world.