The universe has no preferences.
It does not choose good, evil, happiness, or sadness.
And perhaps this is precisely what destabilizes us:
the idea that evil can happen without a reason.
Without a message. Without a plan.
Yet, as human beings, we seek meaning in everything.
We need stories to endure reality.
We tell ourselves that there is a design, an intention.
That if we suffer, there will be a lesson.
That God, if He exists, wants to communicate something to us.
But perhaps not.
Perhaps evil is just evil.
Perhaps it simply exists.
If we stripped away this illusion,
we might no longer be able to live.
And so here is prayer.
Here is morality.
Here is faith in greater plans.
Constructions to prevent us from falling.
But upon closer inspection, we realize that
human beings have placed themselves above the universe.
They have projected themselves onto God.
A God who consoles, who judges, who chooses.
A God who has human feelings,
because we cannot imagine something truly different from us.
But if a deity truly existed,
it would be beyond time.
Beyond morality.
Beyond everything.
It would have no need to act, to intervene, to make itself known.
It would not rejoice with us.
It would not suffer with us.
It would not be moved by death, birth, love.
It would be merely an observer.
Total. Unstoppable. Silent.
An observer who cannot, or does not want to, interfere.
Because everything already is.
Everything happens together, in an eternal now.
The past, the present, the future are our concepts.
Human. Limited.
They serve to contain the anguish of existence.
The anxious live in the future.
Those with regrets live in the past.
The present?
Perhaps it is just a bubble, an illusion,
a fictitious point we create to remain stable.
Time is a construct.
Morality, an invention.
Narratives, crutches.
And perhaps God, if He exists, is not merciful.
Not cruel.
He is just beyond.
Beyond everything we can imagine.
And so perhaps the only divine act left to us
is to observe.
To observe everything, without expectations.
With clarity. With trembling. With sincerity.
And to endure.
Because deep down, despite everything,
we still need something that resembles a roof.
A time.
A caress.
Even if we know that all this is fragile.
And perhaps it is precisely there,
at that point where
truth and illusion intersect,
that a fragment of the sacred is found.
It does not choose good, evil, happiness, or sadness.
And perhaps this is precisely what destabilizes us:
the idea that evil can happen without a reason.
Without a message. Without a plan.
Yet, as human beings, we seek meaning in everything.
We need stories to endure reality.
We tell ourselves that there is a design, an intention.
That if we suffer, there will be a lesson.
That God, if He exists, wants to communicate something to us.
But perhaps not.
Perhaps evil is just evil.
Perhaps it simply exists.
If we stripped away this illusion,
we might no longer be able to live.
And so here is prayer.
Here is morality.
Here is faith in greater plans.
Constructions to prevent us from falling.
But upon closer inspection, we realize that
human beings have placed themselves above the universe.
They have projected themselves onto God.
A God who consoles, who judges, who chooses.
A God who has human feelings,
because we cannot imagine something truly different from us.
But if a deity truly existed,
it would be beyond time.
Beyond morality.
Beyond everything.
It would have no need to act, to intervene, to make itself known.
It would not rejoice with us.
It would not suffer with us.
It would not be moved by death, birth, love.
It would be merely an observer.
Total. Unstoppable. Silent.
An observer who cannot, or does not want to, interfere.
Because everything already is.
Everything happens together, in an eternal now.
The past, the present, the future are our concepts.
Human. Limited.
They serve to contain the anguish of existence.
The anxious live in the future.
Those with regrets live in the past.
The present?
Perhaps it is just a bubble, an illusion,
a fictitious point we create to remain stable.
Time is a construct.
Morality, an invention.
Narratives, crutches.
And perhaps God, if He exists, is not merciful.
Not cruel.
He is just beyond.
Beyond everything we can imagine.
And so perhaps the only divine act left to us
is to observe.
To observe everything, without expectations.
With clarity. With trembling. With sincerity.
And to endure.
Because deep down, despite everything,
we still need something that resembles a roof.
A time.
A caress.
Even if we know that all this is fragile.
And perhaps it is precisely there,
at that point where
truth and illusion intersect,
that a fragment of the sacred is found.
