How The Gods Built Their House

For years, I lived certain I was on the right path. But to my horror, I discovered that it was a lie. I had been deceived as a child and the decisions I had made under the auspice of righteousness had led me down a path of chaos and meaninglessness. Refusing to succumb to nihilism, I resolved to climb the mountain of the gods and beseech them to rectify all, to undo the damage I had done in my blind adherence to what I now knew to be little more than superstition and ignorance. The journey was long and miserable. I passed the Foothills of Novelty, stumbled through the Forests of Humiliation, traversed the Lava Fields of Perdition. I wept at the Fountain of Repentance, conquered my fears in the Desert of Illusion, and was stripped of everything I held dear as I climbed towards the Summit of the Gods.

Ragged and weary, I reached the peak and found a small and ordinary house overlooking the world. A home-cooked supper reached my nose. I staggered to the front door and, finding it unlocked, entered without announcement. Though it possessed an ordinary façade, the interior of the house was beyond description. Displayed on the walls and tapestries of the boundless space was the universe itself. Stars, galaxies, and superclusters, all the splendor of the heavens adorned the halls of the grand interior contrasted by the blackness of space which contained it all, including the house itself. Upon further exploration, I found that I could reach any point in the house from any other. The left side of the house from the right, the top from the bottom.

“How is such a thing possible?” I asked.

“In infinity, all points are center,” said a voice from behind me. I spun around, startled. There before me was a being of the purest white light. It was encapsulated within a crystalline form, yet had no solidity to speak of.

“Who are you?” I asked. I forgot I was the one trespassing.

“I am the Housekeeper,” said the light being, “and you have come seeking answers.” I nodded. “Not many venture here. The way is difficult, but those who make it shall find what they seek.”

“Are the gods home?” I asked.

Without a word, the Housekeeper took me to a peculiar room. At the center of the room lay a lever. The Housekeeper stood beside it.

“You have come seeking the gods’ help in fixing your life,” he said.

“That’s right, but how did you know?” I asked.

“Everyone ventures here for that reason,” he said. He pulled the lever.

The foundation of the whole house shifted and the stars and galaxies around us began to die. Planets collided with each other in apocalyptic fashion. Stars exploded in grand supernovae and galaxies were ripped apart by supermassive black holes. It was as if the lever was connected to the whole of existence. As the celestial bodies burned around us the Housekeeper told me something I would never forget.

“Infinity is not complicated. It is built upon a single keystone which exists at all points at all times. If one attempts to remove it, he brings the whole thing down upon his head. But, it is just as easily set back in its proper place,” he said. He pulled the lever back into place and the foundations were righted. I watched as new stars were born and new planets formed around them. New galaxies emerged from the remains of their ancestors and the black holes closed and ceased their celestial feast. “Everything is balanced across time.”

“You see,” he continued, “you have sought this place out of urgency. You saw what was wrong with your life, you saw what was wrong with the world, and you thought that only a god could fix it for you, but, the gods are clever. They designed this world as one ever-occurring event. The right action at any point in space-time corrects whatever perceived imbalances may be present. Therefore, eventually, all those who are lost will come back home, all which was taken will be returned. There is no urgency. All is well because one rights all. This is how the gods built their house.”

“It’s so beautiful,” I said. “Only the gods would create something so grand yet so elegantly simple.” The Housekeeper took me by the hand and led me to the lever.

“The infinite is concealed within the finite. The gods have arranged eternity so that one is always enough to access the foundations of existence. So what if Hell itself bursts forth for a thousand years? Just a tiny nudge is all that is needed to set things back in order. So why seek a god when you are all that is needed?” he said, placing my hand around the lever. The walls and tapestries now depicted my life, every wrong turn I ever made, every bitter arrow my tongue ever loosed, and every person to whom I was cruel. I felt the weight of my actions begin to crush me.

The Housekeeper leaned in. “It is impossible to break the structure of the house, though many have tried.”

A sense of calm and capability bolstered my spirit. I gripped the lever with intent. “I don’t need the gods to fix my life. I’ll do it!” I pulled the lever. A bolt of lightning struck me and I rode it back to earth. The celestial tapestry of the house burned away and I found myself sitting on a shoreline. A sign stuck in the sand read “Silence Beach.” My hand was still tight as if it were still gripping the lever.

I sensed the Housekeeper. His voice echoed in my ear one last time before fading into the stillness. “What more needs to be done? This is why the gods are always watching from the sidelines. The house is built. Now, go.”

I sat upon that beach for several hours, the moon illuminating the darkness with a soft glow, the waves crashing endlessly against the shore, pondering what I had just learned. It was thus that I came to understand effortlessness. From that day forth I toiled no more and with the knowledge of the gods, set to right all in my life that had been moved from its foundations.