How painful it must to be timeless, to know it all…but even more painful, to be eternal, never able to taste the pain of death. Often I imagine we are but the dream of a God gone mad. That would explain why there is evil, a sleeping God couldn’t really do much against such…hmmm.
For far too long I sat in deep contemplation about the existence of a creator being. One that is infinite, beyond space and time. The irony being that such a being will always remain inconceivable to my human mind, as I cannot even imagine existing out of time or space. I mean, what is a being out of time? And better yet, if time was created, could God count before its creation?
To some, the notion of an authoritarian overseer with the power of judge and executioner that puts us here without our conscious consent is a version of hell in itself. To others, there is no greater consolation for the loneliness synonymous with the human condition than an overseeing creator with knowledge of how many strands of hairs stand on our very heads.
Personally, I find the question of God’s existence all together irrelevant because in my opinion it is the wrong question. Instead, I ask, what is the nature of existence. But even in that, there are no easy answers. If you may, consider the world a virtual simulation, sort of like the popular Sims computer game. Now imagine a character in this game was consciously trying to figure out the nature of organic reality. At best this character is left with possibilities of concepts drawn from it’s own investigations based on its limited reality. Such is the trap of existence we find ourselves in. Sure the church has a picture of paradise to paint us, but in a world of multiple belief systems with some lost to the sands of time, it is hard to submit any account as gospel truth. For even if it can be asserted that a creator being exists, the question of its nature will still remain a mystery. This mystery in whatever form you imagine it, I believe, is the veil we continue to push in search of clarity. And if we are to conceive reality void of any force that isn’t physical, we are left with recommending the universe and all life within it as a cosmic accident birthed out of nothingness.
It appears there is no safe haven, and it is only the philosophically lazy in search of absolutes and certainties that fall prey to the notion of truth, for if there is A truth, then it is like a droplet of water flowing with a vast ocean. Or better put in the words of the Sufist poet Rumi; silence is the language of God, all else is bad translation. So there lies the question, how do we ever get to know a God that speaks only silence? Or perhaps that is the wrong question. Perhaps we should be asking how do we make peace with the uncertainty we would always live with, hoping that in death, all will be answered, or silence will follow.