God

So, where does he lie, this creature of sea, who rules pragmatic through each last sea, and opens to us our final closed door through which all our ancestors preceded before, the ghastly white cape, the faraway look, as he enters our names in that endless, black book. Silent like sheep, we are forced through the plot, the climax of which is that our lives have been wrought. What then happens to man as he dies, as his relatives grieve in his mother, she cries? Is he reborn to another great list, or does he merely cease to exist? Those of us who have lived in luxury on earth, and have been totally satisfied even since birth, think back on our lives and realize too late that our lives were created and controlled by fate. There is no God, loving, fair, saying, All is well. The alleged commands, Worship me, or go to hell. If in return for my life I must worship one who's never been a real live man, only his image like a mannequin, an egotistic, omnipotent fool, throwing lives into a lottery pool, the meekest of which he's already chosen, to worship him eternally, the others he's frozen, and the only alternative degrading as well, the horde of hot fires of a cold, lonely hell. Then I say to this fair, loving God who has done all this, but is nevertheless a fraud, I ask you a question, answer honestly please. What if one day a divine inspiration to you did occur, but it wasn't yours, you would be sure, and in the words you wrote down from that voice, but only because of your predestined choice, you found, imagine this if you can, that some super ultimate, truly fair and loving God created you, just as you did man. www.mooji.org