i will tell you brothers how it is to be God; i have been working in care homes in UK for last 10 years, looking after elderly people; and i will explain to you something: many times I saw it: the old man gets worse, his tongue is too week and he cannot bite any more; his son comes, and I say "your father doesnt bite anymore; he needs a drip; he needs nutrition" and his son says "he doesn't bite? he had enough let him die" and I say "but with drip your father can live really long; without drip he will die soon, and he will die suffering malnutrition and dihaidration" and his son says rising his voice "I am his son, I said no drip" and then family doctors come round, and I say "I know he doesnt bite anymore, but he still needs food; he needs a drip" and doctor snaps 'I am the doctor, you are just care assistant" So for few days we, care assistants, put food on a plate in front of him; his body is raving for food, but he cannot bite; his tongue is too week" I give him a blanket, and hugg him, so he can feel a little bit better before he dies
there was a poet name Dylan; he was one of them, one of people who bite; his father was on a deathbed in hospital, and he would not open his mouth to bite; instead of asking to give his father a drip, he got angry and wrote a poem; he read this poem to his own father, who was passing away (instead of giving him food via syringe); you can do it to your own father: read it to him when he is passing away, and refusing to bite:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
and that is how God feels every single day: like this old man sitting in the chair, chosing to rather die then bite, and his son running around the planet earth "I say there is no God; and if there is why he wont punish me for what I say or do? why he wont struck me with a thunder? I tell you: there is no good, because he doesn't bite"
the most ironic thing is that God can do everything, he has all the powers (he is not like this old man in a nursing home) but he choses to do nothing; because he knows that to punish, and to bite, is not a right thing to do; but he does feel the pain watching this place, and I feel his pain: because I believe