Real Gods Require Blood

GOD IS A GAMBLING HOUSE: THE METAPHOR

Summary:

The creator knows God (Elohim) is a difficult character to understand when He hasn’t given you a chance to ‘figure Him out.’

Well, He’s not about to start going easy on you now, but even He figures you could use a little peek inside, for how else can you understand why his petulant toddlers (Lucifer and Michael) seem so hellbent on getting in His way?

It’s up to you to decide who’s side you’re really on. . . .

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Once upon a time,

Of a time,

Of many, many times,

There was God. Now, infinite possibilities of God exist, but for this special project, we’re going to focus on the God we all know and love: Yahweh, the Supreme God of our traditional Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity, Islam).  

Now, because infinite possibilities of God (hereby Elohim) exist, we’re going to do a little experimenting to crack Him open and see what He’s about. After all, how do you understand Lucifer and Michael’s compulsions to lash out against God if you know nothing of the Great Being Himself?

Let’s see if Elohim feels generous enough to give us a tip or two. We owe Him a visit, anyway:

You are invited to the Highest Court in all the cosmos, escorted kindly by a couple of regular angels from Earth up to the Celestial Realm. You wish you had more time to admire the whir of stars and suns around you, but the trip is so fast from bottom to top, you have no time.

“Don’t worry,” one assures you, eyes closed with serene smile. “You get a better view once you’re in the casino.”

Casino . . .? You wonder why God’s favorite place is a gambling house, briefly, before a massive, crystalline castle swallows you and your guides in its shadow.

Then you forget your question. Every luxurious image you think when you hear ‘Paradise’ should ring in your ears; the castle is adorned in the glow of stars of every color. All along the stairs and the towers was His court of jewels: sardius, the topaz, the diamonds, the beryl,

The oynx, the jasper, the sapphire, the emerald,

And, of course, the gold. Gold and lapis lazuli on the floors, on fountains that rained ambrosia forever, on the benches and gardens, on pillars that held up the signs, and more, and more.

“Oh, my God.”

“Yes,” the other angel laughs, eyes too shut with serene smile. “We know.”

You make a face. You’d heard some rumors that angels could be smug, but like many things you’re learning about God, it just somehow gets worse.

Not that it can matter for long. The angels are just nice enough to settle you on a long, gold-lined carpet encrusted with rubies and garnets guides you inside.

“He is at the top waiting for you.” Both gesture with their hands, no, talons, for they had the arms of a harpy. “It is important for Him to orient you properly to the space, so please do not speak to any other being before you do Him, especially the two at the top beside Him.”

“Especially those two.” The other emphasizes, before both vanish with a violent screech.

Pleasant, you think, dusting yourself from their grip before turning to the door.

Oh, God!

You hadn’t even finished absorbing the splendor of the castle, jaw going slack. How were you supposed to understand this? Perhaps, quite simply, you’ll just say this: There are bars for bars and drinks for drinks, infinite kitchens on the floor and the ceiling and anywhere a sideways staircase could hold them.  Servers dashed like ballerinas on the stage, weaving between patrons, hopping off performers’ platforms where they strut and swung around their poles.

Most of all, talk rings in every tongue, or tongues, from every god we have ever known is here, however small, from any pantheon,

And they mingle with humans of every nation, of every world,

Who then mingle with other species you didn’t even have a name for, but you’re pretty sure they’re something like aliens and monsters and demons, all in communion as if nothing divided them.

Amazing.

This would be so hard to believe if it hadn’t felt real. The brush of armor and cloth beneath on your skin as you shove your way through the crowd reminds you it certainly is.  

Eventually you make it to the Central Hall, where it was told The Greatest Gamble Of All Time! was currently happening. And it was, for gold rained down from the ceiling over moving stairs and platforms.  For however many beings you saw just walking in, here in the Central Hall were the best among them, all famous gods and prophets and artists and authors,

all the myths, the monsters, the daemons, the horrors,

It was too many fucking names to think about right now, good Lord, so you focus on taking your first step up the long, winding staircase in the center. You feared it would be a steep hike to the top, but to your delight, the stairs shift into gilded benches, the likes of which invite you to sit down.

Up you go! The benches begin their ascent; you wonder if the belt that moved it all was powered by magic or machine. Then, your mind wanders around again, looks over the entire cluster of beings shaking their dice and slamming down their slot machine handles. Even compared to the engrossing, neon bubblegum pop of human casinos, it paled to the chorus of desperate gamblers.

But what could the bet here be? Money was clearly still relevant here, but it didn’t seem to drive them the same way. You could not guess what this early on; all you knew was the amount of fighting, coin throwing, table flipping, and shouting begged more than just raw currency itself.

One day it will make sense, if that’s what you want. Before then, you will find yourself now at the very top of the Central Hall, where a table sprawling with gold and stardust boasts every type of betting game you and any other species could have invented,

Which is why, if nothing else, you can at least understand why it was only these three waiting for you at the very top:

First there is God. Always God. He is the peak of the triangle, idly shaking dice with a massive grin that is teeth, all teeth. He decorated Himself in a lacey white blouse with a cream, wide-brimmed hat. His long, blonde locks spill over the chair and onto the floor.

Then, to the left is Lucifer, his first and only son born from a woman. Like his father, he seemed to enjoy a good lacey blouse, though his would be half-sleeved and light blue, complimented with wide-flared pants. He had just as much hair that flowed over the back, though with one side tucked behind a pointed ear with a pearl earing decorating it. He was studying his current hand of cards.

Last, but never least, to the right is Michael, who you are surprised to find is not the Heavenly Host everybody told you about. No, instead, this version is the first-born son of Abbadon, the Primordial Father of Chaos, the next in line to inherit the Inferno. Well, you think, that makes sense – it helped explain the long, red cloak Michael wore, pared black, wide-flared pants and his own brim hat, red as blood just like the absurd amount of hair he had running down his back. Anyway, He was busy writing down how many times he wanted to call ‘red’ or ‘black’ on the Russian Roulette wheel.

Nevermind God.

What the Hell did you get yourself into?

“Oh look at that, Mikha’el.”

Lucifer smiles down at his cards, not bothering to look at you. He knew the same rule you did, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t try! “Our guest is finally here! And here I thought they would never come.”

You swallow a golf ball’s worth of nerves. You do not respond but it’s so hard not to – obviously, there was God! But here too was the Devil . . .and the devil? Or another god? Technically, weren’t they all gods? But then, you knew Lucifer and Michael were angels, so did that mean God was also an angel?

“They sure are, honey.”

Michael doesn’t look at you either, just kept scribbling. Red and odd, black and even, black and odd. . . . “I can hear ‘em havin’ a whole existential crisis in their head right now. Hah!”

Wait! How can they hear –

“Your thoughts? Easy.”

Lucifer drops his cards face up, smiling, his blue eyes snapping to you. It was a Royal Flush.

“Sweetheart, I’m thenext in line for God. Reading your mind is like, how you humans breathe air. Very easy, very natural, though sometimes I wish it wasn’t. You have too many going in your head at once and it’s too loud!”

All that does is rattle you with more questions. If God was here in the center, how can Lucifer also be God, or about to be?!

Tchtchtchtch.

A rattle came from your right side, one that sounded like a laugh wrapped in a growl. You’d like to think that was just the Russian Roulette wheel spinning with the ball click-click-clicking over the colors.  

Tch. Tch. Tch.

No, you have never actually heard a Russian Roulette wheel sound like that. But staring at a being as beautiful as Lucifer while he scraped into your soul to see your neediness, your weakness, well you could use a break.

So you look right, hoping it really was the wheel. It was not; Michael was staring at you with the same unflinching intensity, laughing under his breath while his red eyes try to pluck your soul for your worst fears.

Oh, God.

“Hah!” Michael laughs again, rolls his eyes. “You think God will help you just because you’re begging for Him right now?”

And he would proceed to recite to you a quote that went like this:

“Listen, human, you seem so terribly confused so, let me straighten it out for you. My husband Lucifer, you see . . .he is God. But I am God, too. And you, and all those losing bastards down there, all of them are God, for God is merely the reflection of Him, acting out His every thought. How you cower before us right now, in fact, is an act of God.”

Now both laugh at you, lean in so close you catch an overwhelming mix of saffron and eucalyptus and honey and mint.

“Do you get it, now? You’re tryin’ to play God. We all are. But be careful, if you lose – “

Both laugh, and laugh, and laugh in your ear. You will not talk to them, no matter what.

“We might just take your soul!” Lucifer chirps, too happy for such a situation. “Don’t worry, though . . .if that’s too frightening for you to deal with, you can just forfeit now. We will have your soul for all our days.”

DO NOT TALK TO THEM –

“That body looks somethin’ nice too, don’t you think Helel?” Michael props an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand. The purr in his throat raises questions you never want answers to, but get anyway. “Bet it’s tender enough to throw in a stir fry.”

Lucifer almost giggles as he proceeds to describe how he’d cook you for his husband after they throw your soul down in The Inferno. You are seconds from taking the stairs back down, when –

“Alright you two, that’s enough.”

All three of you look up at God, who finally felt the need to intervene. The dice He threw down came up all threes; He would just smile with closed eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop scaring the newcomers? Do all that when they at least get to the Central Hall.”

Both sigh, groan, roll their eyes, then concede. Lucifer is dealt a fresh stack of cards; Michael goes back to monitoring his list of bets.

Oh, thank God.

“Yes, yes of course.” Elohim smiles with more teeth than Michael somehow, summoning corporeal mouths to surround Him. “That’s why I’m the actual God. These two are just my petulant children who don’t like rules.”

Elohim slides you a small stack of chips.

“Now, I know it’s been quite a journey to get this far, hasn’t it? So, allow me to get you settled as quickly as I can:”

And Elohim begins to tell you how this is meant to work:

First, He tells you the contract you signed before your soul could even gain a body. He tells you this because it’s a reminder that He knows every little thing about you, from start to finish, and that He knows – or at least, can see – the best way to grow your soul into what it yearns for.

“However. . .you’re gonna get a lot of messaging from false prophets.” And Elohim laughs for a second before carrying on, “Um, whether that means you’ll be manipulated against your own best interest to behave a certain way or behave too much a way YOU think you should, I don’t know . . . but like, false prophets!”

“So,” you can finally speak, relieved for you did wait until you got to God, “You’re trying to tell me you will give me the best chance of success at ‘being who I am,’ but may be persuaded by false prophets to stop listening to you?”

Elohim chokes on a laugh, but clears His throat and shakes His head. He was trying to maintain God, after all.

“Be careful with your words, my child. ‘Success’ in your eyes is not ‘success’ for me. Sometimes what the soul needs to grow is not what the body or the mind thinks it wants. Oh, but please don’t blindly listen to me all the time. That bores me! And please, do not try to ignore me all the time. That’ll piss me off!”

Again with the smiling. He could not stop that; at least He would grace you with the faintest crack of His left eye, the likes of which felt like fire dancing through every pore in your body.

“Are you starting to get it? You can love me, or hate me, I do not care! For as my son Michael has said, I am God, the true reflection of every single life force in the universe. Whether or not I made you myself, it does not matter.”

Elohim senses something in you, yes He does – He can’t help but slide you a few extra chips with a merry hum, a generous offer for a human.

“All I mean is . . . believe just about anything you want. You like my sons more? Sure, follow them if you like. In fact, ANY god, prophet, or weird eldritch horror,”

From the distance, Cthulu chitters,

“Go have ‘em! In fact, tell me why I don’t care if you go have at ‘em!”

You are stunned. You both know that anything God says is meant to be the same reflection, which is to say He ordained for all beliefs to be beneath Him.

But, how can one deity hold all contradictions so close to His breast as to perpetually succeed?

Elohim laughs. He’s been watching your every thought scroll in His eyes.

“My child . . .”

And God,

And Lucifer, and Michael,

And every angel, daemon, alien, horror, and human in the Central Hall, yes, even you!

All laugh in a rancorous wail, saying this:

“GOD IS EVERYWHERE, MORTAL! IF YOU THINK YOU CAN BE A BETTER ME THAN ME, THOUGH, GOOD LUCK AND WELCOME TO THE FUCKING COURT!”