Meditating On My Faith
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Can God's existence be proven? Is a special pedigree required for the task? It seems we are endowed with sufficient means: Intuition and common sense, reasoning is of course a natural tool, probability a justified rationale, and Imitation a way to verify our theories. But are we speaking the same language, or am i babbling in your ear? What is the meaning of the word god? How do we know something is true? Why do we think God is hidden from us? A Being beyond our being? Or do the Aspects of The Creator appear to us, in a repertoire of traits, envisaging a saintliness we are wise to assume? i've...
Can God's existence be proven? Is a special pedigree required for the task? It seems we are endowed with sufficient means: Intuition and common sense, reasoning is of course a natural tool, probability a justified rationale, and Imitation a way to verify our theories. But are we speaking the same language, or am i babbling in your ear? What is the meaning of the word god? How do we know something is true? Why do we think God is hidden from us? A Being beyond our being? Or do the Aspects of The Creator appear to us, in a repertoire of traits, envisaging a saintliness we are wise to assume? i've contemplated His Image in Virtue, His Majesty in Love, Grace and Mercy, His Being in existence itself, His Voice echoing in Truth. (Villainy, i found, is a shroud tailored by the will of man, suffering, a patchwork of worldly attachment, and misfortune, alas, is a pattern woven into freedom.) To me there is nothing to prove, about God or His Goodness. (Though I can exhaust your doubts.) For the proof resides in a farce i play-The curtain has not yet fallen-stumbling headlong across life's stage, into past and future scenes, personifying anxiety and despair, then falling into wantonness i tremble, at His Loss. His Immanence so utterly rejected the Emptiness is overwhelming. i pause in the Here and Now, glimpsing for a moment the intended Being of my Impersonation: He says: "I AM The King of Kings. Why do you flounce the Jester? The fool is nothing-but a hypocrite, a pest, a poseur!" "Stitched into my costume," i say, "like a piece of tattered cloth, my soul incites mockery, this way, in absence of my troth."
