IF GOD'S UNIVERSE IS MADE OF LOVE, WHY IS IT SO ROCKY?

   Do you ever sit and ponder the incredible largeness of this universe? Do you look at pictures of "The Pillars of Creation" from the James Webb outer space telescope and think, WTF? 

Is God just, like, PLAYIN' with us? Sometimes I think she is, or at least, playing with creation, having fun hurling big rocks and gaseous stars out into the blackness just for the delight of it.

  But my question is--for why? Why create all of these planets, galaxies, baby stars, and hunks of huge rocks? Do they have a purpose? Or is it hidden from us small-eyed mortals?

 

  These are the kind of things going through my strangely-wired brain as I sit on the deck looking out over the blowing trees. 

Them I understand. Wind I can get. Soil I am in love with. Humans I mostly get, except for the orange fucktrumpet. I suspect there are no answers to these questions which make me damn twitchy. Don't you think that God, in her vast wisdom, would have given us just a hint of her purposes here?

 Here's some thoughts on why God keeps sending out odd things into the universe which may--or may not--be infinite according to astronomers.

--God likes to pick up the pace of creation and dance with her huge rocks.

--God puts songs into each star, planet, galaxy and likes to float around listening to those amazing notes which I image are rather like the songs of Humpback Whales. (Do listen to them, totally amazing.)

 

--God gets lonely in her universe and likes to fly off, skimming her beautiful blue lesbian body over these rocky lumps. (I know, I know, God would have to have a physical body here instead of the floaty bits I imagine.)

--God gets damn fed-up with the crazy violence on our planet earth and always feels better after creating a new galaxy full of lovely songs we will never hear. Maybe songs in her galaxies are her sighs.

--Perhaps continuing to create things is a way for God to feel alive. It could be the very essence of who she is--creation, creating, created. Somewhere a pluperfect tense is lurking.

  I do not know. I am a teensy speck of dust on a teensy speck of dirt floating in black space. ("We are here, we are here, we are here," as Dr. Seuss had his creatures say.) 

The best I can do is get up, feed the dog, make breakfast, send some emails, call a friend or two, hug my honey, go to church, pray loudly, and sit on the deck looking at my Merlin ID app to see what warblers are in our nearby trees. Never see them, just hear them. But that is enough. I think listening to whale songs and bird songs ought to be enough, don't you? Or maybe planting some fennel, a new peony, and hanging out a huge Pride Flag to mark the month of June.