In praise of it

This is in praise of the divine. The benevolent. The almighty. In whose infinite patience we bask, in whose shadow we cower. I would use “it”, for it transcends gender and scoffs at the thought of opposing sexes. It is a personification, yet still, it has neither personality nor character. It has a will –powerful and unbending —but lacks the decisiveness necessary for its imposition. It contradicts nothing and everything all at once, yet shies away from something.
For millennia it watched over beings, beasts, and all manner of natural existence. Where there is balance it strikes chaos, where there is chaos it imposes balance. With each rising and setting of the goddess sun and the god moon, it silently insinuates itself into the fabric of time. Scheming and mocking and deceiving until left in its wake, scattered among golden debris, the hundreds of screaming pleas and prayers and supplications.
It is cold. It is hot. Yet not both at the same time. It feels pain as the dead feels heat, having an emotional range of a single grain of rice. It rejoices in desolation and fleeting happiness, yet abhors contradiction. It is a contradiction in itself, whose necessity not even it could ever understand. It has a vague idea of hope and a good grasp of egoistic fanaticism. It is pessimistic about optimism.
It is everywhere. Bound by neither time nor space, eternal it seems, and wholly righteous in its self-glorification. Its past is the present, its future its past. Woe to those it meets in the darkened roads of this cursed land, for it knows no mercy and hears no conscience.
I would call it “it”, for it is indeed indescribable. Let its testament be the foundation of our faith, as we live and die in love and hate. It is me. It is you. It is our very existence.

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