The Paradox of God

Anyone who claims to know the full truth about God speaks from illusion. For how can the finite explain the infinite? How can a single mind, bound by language, memory, and fear, hold the total knowledge of a reality it did not create?

Yet this is what many religions quietly promise: certainty -- a God perfectly mapped, fully defined, with motives explained and plans decoded. Do this, believe this, repeat this, and the mystery becomes manageable, safe, familiar. The story stops being a mirror and hardens into a wall.

But if there is a divine reality, it would not shrink to fit inside our categories. It would not be limited by our metaphors or bound by our scriptures. It would be larger than our favourite story about it -- including this one. Any description we give is already too small.

This is the paradox: we long to know, to define, to be sure -- and yet whatever is truly infinite cannot be fully captured by a mind that forgets, misremembers, and fears. Our language reaches upward like a child's hand toward the sky: sincere, but never complete.

Perhaps the honest path is not to cling to perfect answers, but to walk with a humble question. Not "I know what God is," but "Whatever the Truth is, let it find me changing." Not a system to defend, but a mystery to live inside.

These thoughts are personal reflections -- not doctrine, not instruction, not authority. If there is one sacred sentence here, it is simply: "I do not know -- but I am listening."