See[Gaze]ing
I went up to the water a little afraid of my horizon. If the earth tipped just the slightest bit, the shallow edge would pocket me in an instant. I would sink somewhere in the deep left corner, just underneath the continental shelf.
The sand felt good under my toes, but it’s slippery stuff that gets away from you if you try to hold onto it too tightly. Rather like the foam. You want it to stay bubbled around you forever, but your touch is lethal and it curls up into nothingness too quickly.
Maybe that’s why I equate the ocean with God—in the moments of grand questionings. I would never argue against His opinion, just like I know that trying to swallow a wave would kill me. But the tiny details that make Him soft and fluffy seem too hard to describe. They die when you wrap words around them.
But that doesn’t keep me from coming back. From standing on the edge of His immensity and just looking.
He’s mesmerizing. He’s got predictable patterns, but His crests leap into the air at precisely the second you’d least expect them to be released from His gravity. His salt content is blisteringly high; maybe one day I’ll relax enough to learn to float on my back, belly-up to the blazing sun.
I want a man, though. I don’t want to marry the sea. She feels too unfeeling and self-absorbed. She’ll suck you dry of thirst.
I don’t want my God to be like the sea.
What if He was like a forest?—all wise and old on the inside. He wouldn’t be as threatening because His roots would keep Him where He belongs, on the earth. But His thoughts would run rampant, pollinating the countryside with the sperm of new ideas. Well, old ideas starting over at the beginning again because they were just too lovely to transfix in the final climax. It’s worth regrowing the same old oak from the puny acorn again.
I don’t want to marry a forest either. It’s sad and tired and mostly overrun by things that aren’t stuck where they stand.
What if He was a man. He’d have to be beautiful. Anything scarred would make me think He couldn’t protect Himself. Anything ugly would make me think Him sad–and that’s unbearable. Anything…well. Anything could happen, I suppose.
So, I stand and wiggle my toes and smell the pine bough and pray to the dear God that He gets His ass back down here again so we can be on talking terms.
A talking God. That’s the kind of God I want to marry.
christopologie 
I love it. Your voice, the thought process, the comparatives. What a delicious vehicle through which to explore natural comparatives with their Creator. It urges me on to wish myself to be as eloquent, to feign as though I were, on my own, the thought-bearer and delver of such lyrical gems; and I might try a moment, if I may…
Sometimes I sit and gaze at the sun, though not directly as my optics would surely suffer at the hand of such magnificent brilliance, but I contemplate its awesome existence in the thought of its immense heat, how it rolls and bubbles with ripples of unapproachable plasma, which, in itself, seems an incomprehencable quality as it is neither solid, nor liquid, no gas, but a thing who’s quality can be literally deemed, “out of this world”.
It contains the ability to leave one overpowered and driven away buy such intense tempuratures and exposure that they seek shelter from it and divise defence mechanisims, such as that of mobile air conditioning, to help cope with the reality of its exsistance, while another, at the same time, is left for want of its presence as they divise ways to cope without it, creating their own counterfeit of its comforting warmth, and yet still there are those who delight in harmony with its exsistance, warm and comfortable, flourishing in its perfection, their bodies atuned to receive adequately its life-giving properties.
And there is that to be considered, the ability to produce and sustain life! Science would have us explain away and quantify its perfection down into finite details and mathematically precise degees and variances, diminishing it down to comprehendable variables and yet at the same time making it that much more incomprehencable!
And yet, at the end of the day, like a slave who is also his own master, the Sun, bound by time, the very thing it determines and governs (dare I say, creates) is driven away from our ability to behold and it is this quality that we can know: it is not a god. Though it is unapproachable, sustains life, and creates (if you will) time, it is not eternal nor is it omnipresence, and can hardly be considered omniscience. In the end, it is just a finite ball of gas.
I want a God who is infinant. Not a warm ball of gas.
Lovely! It makes me think of the film Sunshine—unapproachable, life-sustaining, searing in its brilliance, and yet: not god.