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Another part of the making of God:

Loving life so much you want to tell it so.
proximoception: (Default)
Dad appears and Dad is light
To those who live in endless night
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day

Just a variation on Freud's take, where we need to think of our parents' protection, that nest, extended out into the sad and frightening world. The nestmaker knows it's all just yarn and twigs and crap. But maybe some magic help, maybe that magic we felt before still existent in something our parents did or were or sang...

Religion made god, after all, not god religion. If God arrived to challenge our traditions we'd see a curious split, but not till then - just like the libertarians and fundamentalists will keep theirs papered over as long as one Democrat breathes. Magic in a person? Maybe. A place? Probably. A way to be? Certainly. Some way, among those possible, is the certain best. The shape of us doing that best is Blake's human form.
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I wonder if we'd have come up with god without dreams. It's not really important whether we actually have some mechanism of speaking to ourselves in dreams, or instead our attempts to understand what's happening in them allow us to interpret order into our own detritus, during or after immersion. Either way you get the prospect, memory, expectation of a written world, albeit a crazy, hazy, fragmentary, protean one. Designed-looking experiences. Before we accepted it was us we must have thought it was something else messing with us, some thing or things that knew about our days - giving us the concept of a not-us that was both in us and outside us. But even with that discarded it gets us used to the notion of designed worlds, message worlds, experiences as balls thrown for us to catch. Who we are when we're not there, the other night meat. Imagination we control, and anyway it's barely happening, is underwater water coloring, but dreams provide the full sensory range, or anyway narrow our consciousness past remembering what parts of the sensory range might be missing.

We need to make totalizing statements but we need to compartmentalize them. Out here and in there aren't disconnected, but there's a ferry, two planes and a yak ride between them.
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We have the world in our heads except not. We control the world in our heads except not. Our attempts to control the world outside, whatever their degrees of success, inevitably proceed based on half-controlled simulations we run in a half-world within.

Excepts having been excepted, that explains part of God as a notion.

Our parents do make things right for us, as children, produce food and other necessities from next to nowhere, know so vastly more than us we negligently round it up to omniscience. When things are wrong they become something to blame, appease, forgive.

This explains part of God as a need.

Things fall into the orders that things fall into, and where they don't no order is perceived; having no internal order knowable without leaning on patterns outside us, we use some of these as crutches, scaffolds, models. Think after things long enough and things start to look like thoughts.

This explains part of God as a cause.

We fall from earlier views of ourselves at puberty, first love, first loss of love, first crucial death of another, first crucial illness of our own, first extraordinary and prolonged loss of self-control, first realization we're nowhere near on schedule, first that we'll never arrive, first that we never could have, that we're getting older, that we're declining, that we're old, that we're dying. No, 'views' is weak, from earlier feelings of what we are, say - but these feelings lasted for years, they were us, they're still part of our memories, photographs, habits, the habitual reactions of others to us etc. To feel we have fallen from what we are and for the worse, the more usual result of most of these changes, is a hard thing to face directly but a harder thing to deny entirely. The space between the new, shrunken nimbus and the lost, expansive old is a charged sort of emptiness. Unfaced, it molds its ghosts behind our back, which filter in through the two holes at the base of our skull and into our dreams or misapprehensions. The notion of a me who could handle right now better is inescapable because I've met him. If I forget just where or how, because why would I want to remember such an intimate, irrevocable loss, the meeting is projected somewhere else.

A meeting with your better self projected somewhere else explains part of God as a feeling that some unreal things are less unreal - thus maybe, we wish-think, more real.

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