My, God

Just my belief

I most certainly do believe in a God; more specifically, I believe in a Creator, a single, impartial omnipresence responsible for bringing all into existence. The Creator's role past that, however, is what is up to debate. Personally, I believe in It because I feel It enough to know that It is.
Happiness can't be defined by those who have never truly felt it. Even then, putting that absolute feeling down to words just seems pointless, if not insulting, compared to it's true meaning. Just the same, the faith in something universally powerful can't be conceptualized without past exposure to at least the idea of such a thing. For example, I couldn't even begin to believe in my own theology until I recognized the Christian influences around me and then acted upon the differences I and the church had. I'm not claiming the Christians are wrong, nor am I condemning any other mono/polytheist doctrine; I'm stating where they and I have parted ways. I can't commit my life to the worship of several gods because I see too much of a kinship between all living things and ideas. Why should I thank a god of the earth for the flowers when without the gods of the sun and water those flowers would be nothing? Also, Nature is not something I feel should be humanized, personified, or fashioned to fit our concept of it. Nature to me is nothing human; in fact, I see it as the complete absence of humanity. It shares absolutely nothing with us. Nature is not selfish; Nature does not wage war (the never-ending struggle between life and death seen in animals and plants is not war, but survival, and there is a difference); Nature cares not for time, blooming and dying night and day and winter and summer. I can understand why the earliest religions in man's history were polytheistic: our knowledge of ourselves and of the world was still young, therefore we looked at the most powerful forces in our world and molded the image of their embodiment after the most powerful body we knew of--us. Then, further down the cycle, we studied and talked some more, and we discovered there was a family to everything, a connection that put all of it in this one world, and we sought to trace the family tree. No longer were the seas and winds standing as gods; now they were fingers and legs of a single body, a single God. This I feel more attracted towards because of the earlier mentioned kinship I believe exists between everything. Where the monotheists leave me, however, is in the purpose behind kinship. I could never commit myself to an authority as they do. I see no significance in following rules written by man in order to honor his Creator. I see it as a waste, an insult to a God that made everything to shun certain delegated things. Also, Christians and Jews and Muslims and others believe in one God, yet they quarrel endlessly. Why? If all of them acknowledge the existence of the family tree, and if all of them know there to be a root to the tree, why must they spend time trying to chop one another's similarities down? My answer, weightless as it is, is that they believe the tree bears different fruit, and where one man will stand by his apple and be proud of the taste, the lemon-lover will be outraged at the lack of citrus and loathe the very sight of a red and crispy belief.
The difference I live with these religions is the limited scope of them, despite their claim to be infinite. They focus on the time, the age of their God, and worship His power over eternity. But what about Eternity itself? I can honor the practice of a belief that pays homage to something as great as life, but I would rather never write down my prayers because everyday I look for new things to worship, everyday I see a new existence that adds a note to the melody of the universe. The presence of my God is not proven through acts of power, of grace, of love; I see Creation every time I spot a bug in the grass. I hear It in music. I feel it in the hair of my friends. I taste it in smoke, in water, in sugar.
I believe that I and the everlasting existence around me is a canvas that is painted upon behind our eyelids. Whenever the paintbrush slips and an unwanted smudge is formed, that is hatred. The Creator ran out of paint once, and thus indifference came about. The things we say are wrong in the world and that need to be righted, I see them as just noticeable changes in the misunderstood conception of Creation. Who are we to distinguish between blemish and beauty? We are the ones with favorite colors, but we are not in control of the paintbrush.
Perhaps a Creator truly doesn't exist. Perhaps everything that is is by accident. But I will never be deaf to the music of life, that inky light called happiness that flows suspiciously like ichor.