Something I wrote a while ago...just thoughts

God is a Naive Passive Boy, or We are all Active Artists

I decided to abandon my work of floury fiction today to come to terms with some concrete ideas embedded within my imagination: now I must search for them. First I will begin with the concept of my story, why this idea may have arrived in my mind, and hopefully I will be able to reach some sane clarity as opposed to one drenched in passion, and lacking coherence and logic- basically projecting my insecurities for my understanding of the world onto my actual ideas, which may not be my own, but due to the irrational state of my body are shaped by the wrong intentions.

I decided to invent an idea of god, to make him a young sensitive adolescent boy who took for granted his ethereal way of life, and have suddenly all of it taken away, be imprisoned in mortality, and to conclude with an equally torturous manner fall in love with the first woman he encounters: a dying aged woman, whom he sees as utterly stunning an beautiful (an optimistic commentary on beauty, my attempt to scream at people telling them that ANYTHING can be beautiful, although I know that isn’t the case, but nonetheless it is a drive that is so apart of me that I cannot exclude it from my story, because it is the way I am telling it) I’ve been thinking a lot about god, or the lack there of due to many of life’s events that most of the world experience on a much more severe level than I have- yet it does say something that even by the minor traumas I have encountered I still feel distain to this overly divine and perfect idea. Convenient more like it. I honestly feel like if god was a tangible entity, he would be an oblivious, selfish, innocent, beautiful young man, healthy, and purely driven by his senses, never to sit and discover his emotions, I actually think he has no emotions at all- just hyper aware senses that drive him forward keeping him distracted from the detriments of time on his ailing planet. I also don’t think that god created the world, which is why it is difficult for me to believe in god. Which is why I don’t right now, I still find it fascinating though despite the fact that I don’t believe in God, that I still have this innate drive to question, and create a rationalization for it, maybe because it has been molded into our way of life, and without this concept I wouldn’t challenge it- who knows, but the fact that the first form of man had this same innate drive does cause me to question things, that it is part of being human to have a perfect idea to strive for.

I think miracles exist, but not out of the direct hand of some singular being, who determines where these miracles exist, so that I thank him with utmost passion. No. I will start with my philosophy, and why I have grown to love life so much, but I think once I get exposed to more brutality, and direct hate it will also be the reason why I feel such despair for the existence all human’s collectively share, and actively destroy for others. I always wondered why religious people found the world such a miracle, such a divine thing, I feel like things stop being divine once we eliminate the spontaneity, and unadulterated organic instinct of the process. So, let’s assume there is a God, and he created a world that he purposely tried to make, and he planned extensively, the whole seven day shebang. He thought about what every animal would look like, and thought about the perfect creature- us humanity and ONLY started working when he knew it was the right time. Now. Of course God is going to be a success, we have learned that approximately 80% of the time if we plan something out, prepare for it (practice, or a form of) we usually get what we want, unless we are striving for nearly impossible things, but this is god, and god can do anything and has no boundaries so for him as long as he has a plan he is absolutely safe: Correct? Now, how the hell can the world be this divine beautiful miracle (which are supposed to have some arbitrary quality to them which then doesn’t really follow the definition quite smoothly because God is all knowing and all calculating) if it has been perfectly planned, because after all God knows what is going to happen: yes, there is such impeccable beautiful, gorgeous sensations—but wait, profound ugliness, slime, guts, uncontrollable hate, relentless violence, brutality, all are perfect in their extreme terror and yes, God planned that too (and yes we can appreciate the beauty because of these horrible things) but, it definitely eliminates the miracle, because now we are just talking about a creative architect.

I feel the world, the earth, and every conversation that I have that makes a minor amount of sense, every time that I see a colour and some one agrees it’s the same colour, every time I share an idea and the person nods, or I sit and am accepted as being silent. I think those are miracles. I think those are pure magic, without an idea of a bearded man in the sky deciding that they are there. Why? Don’t you appreciate the beauty, and the miraculousness of life and the planet knowing that a solitary being didn’t create all of it after a long term thought? That amongst all of this terror and chaos, that right now some one is reading my letters and able to understand the words, that amongst the colliding particles there are solid elements, that there are conversations, and definitions for words (although not always completely accurate) that even despite language, and emotional discrepancies between people, we can at least get away with convincing ourselves with no shame that we are connecting. And this all started, by an arbitrary collision between two rocks in the midst of vacant space, creating some profound friction, that resulted in an explosion in the sky- some supernova of energy managed to create all of this. I don’t need God to feel lucky, I don’t need God to feel like there is something more significant than I; I feel incredible to know that by chance a few billion years later I can encounter people that are more complex (or less) than the dust particles that emanated from the first collision that started all of this life.

That first act, the first contact of two stones, began the organic cannon to the natural instinct of all forms of life (and not just humans) which is to be artistic, and to live artistically. It is about communication, and those two rocks (unconsciously) connected with one another, and shared each other’s energy to evoke a truth they both shared, and from that created life on earth. We are all innate artists, seeking to connect, and express ourselves, and by dismissing this instinct, and assuming our lives are merely contour drawings that merely offer us superficial gratification and no intellectual questioning than you are cinching the natural path of the human, and collective process of discovery of all life forms.

Everything in life is a result of an artistic drive, and thought; although not everything is art. What separates the two categories is one actively searches relentlessly for what to project, or express within herself and forms something to connect herself with universal or semi universal themes to transcend the singularity of her existence whilst the other is merely a banal pilot light to set off the prior discussed phenomenon. We all have pilots- and by we, I mean all forms of life, but humanity has managed to make it into something tangible beyond a thought process included in survival. Dismissing this potential in this tiny pilot is humanity’s tragic flaw.

We often forget, that in relation to the billions of light years which include the giant galaxy of existence that our solitary bodies are meaningless, and all that is significant is the collective body of life on our planet. We are earth. This links to our innate drive to communicate, and have people relate to our views which is the artistic drive. Communicating is our simple organism speaking to us, aware that in retrospect we are one giant piece of existence, and that if we do not create complex ways which match in the simple ways that single cells lets say execute it, then we will never come to grips with our reality that we are really just one giant muscle of animal existence. It’s ok that through our art we make ourselves seem higher, and more complicated, and powerful than we really are on our own, the point is, it brings us together anyways, as much as we like it to make us set ourselves apart as one incredible artist. Ultimately we are one beautiful entity amidst many others I’m sure in the galaxies close and far. We are communicating, and my hope in life is that I gain as much pleasure and insight I can into others so that I can make the best ionic bond to my peers as I can, so that I can hold this beautiful tissue of life together to the best of my ability—that within my control it will be strong, and consistent, I don’t know about others, but in this godless place, I find miracles all of the time, I found a miracle just now, that I can be aware of my purpose for one moment. Even if it changes, at least I am convinced. And amidst incessant chaos, that is more than enough for me for one day. Let alone a life.