If I Believed In God
What Would God Look Like?
If I believed in God, resolutely believed in one almighty God, my God's face would frequently be smiling. Its smile would begin on its mouth and travel up to its eyes, and there it would twinkle, a lot of the time. Those eyes would impart worlds of secrets to me, every time I looked into them. Secrets and understanding and teachings and patience and calm. My God would need no clothing, no white robe nor garb made of light. It would wear its deliverance of knowledge unto me as it's wrappings.
One day it would look like me, and the next it would look like you, and both would be just fine. Its hair wouldn't be hair, but my wild imagination. Its jaw would work in the same way as mine, but from its mouth it would spill praise no matter how small I felt that day. That praise would look like a work of art.
Its shoulders, square and strong would harbour all of my guilt, my regret and my gumption. The sinew of its forearms would be laced with all of the weight I have tried to carry but couldn't on my own. Its hands, often cupped, would shelter my woes and hold them there until I could tarry them. Its torso would be the torso of a God. Throwing out the light and the righteousness, the righteous light, no mere human would ever be capable of throwing out.
Its long, strong legs would brace the earth eternally and as the globe shifted, it too would shift, anticipatory, always a moment ahead so as not to drop the ball.
What Would God Sound Like?
If I believed in God, my God would sound like my happiness. It would sing forever notes unchanging and yet it would be forever adjusting its melody to adapt purposefully to the rise and fall of the tides of my life. Its voice would be the voice of my reason and one of silken, hypnotic rule. It would sound like a child's gleeful mimickry of adult stipulation and at once of a parent's firm, logical persuasion.
My God would whisper the phrases of long forgotten guides. Its words would comfort me and appease my need for direction...my need for discretion. It would laugh almost all of the time, and rather than cry, it would laugh much gentler throughout the rest.
What Would God Do?
What would my God do with all of its free time? With global peace commonplace, guns and weapons of mass destruction no more, evil weeded out and good prevailing, my God would be afforded the chance to sit back, relax and enjoy the fruits of its labour.
A deep swim to the oceanbed and back up to chat with the patterns of light dancing atop the waves; A vigourous climb to the highest points of mountainous terrain, and a slide down the shale to regroup in the valley; A visit into the home of the blue collar hero, complete with a cup of tea by the hearth; A place in the circle of story time, hands held by the devout bards of the world; A meal of blessed meats, crisp greens and hearty, sweet broth both cold and hot; A walk on the grass, barefooted and cool; Conversation with the man and the woman and the beast of its creation and upbringing.
This is what my God would do, were my God, God.
My God Is Mine
What would your God give me, that mine would not? What could your God give me, that mine could not? My God would travel with me and protect me. My God would be my friend, my saviour and my endearment. It wouldn't tell me what I must do but would agree with my steadfast choices, because I am a righteous human being even without its approval. It would alleviate me of those choices I could not make on my own. And those choices would still be made; those choices of mine. Those would be the choices made by me, delivered by my God and I. My God, that is me.
My God Is Me
My words are the words of my God. That God which is me. I think therefore I am a God myself. The God of myself. I create my heaven and fear my own hell though its a hell of my own creation. The plastic hell I hear about doesn't scare me. We see varying degrees of hell all around us every day. We try to circumvent the worst of it, tiptoeing through the tulips of madness and love and the the thorny hedges of what's in between. The bittersweet of life's endeavours pop up and encroach around us, begging for our Gods to sanctify them with titles and priorities and grades of worth.
Your God, my God, their God can't ever truly be on top of one thing or another. Your God, my God and their God are the same in their search for an ending to the trivial.