we walk: at night, alone, in gentle rain.
a silver river shimmers in the street.
its current shifts to fill the steps we leave.
the water in our shoes is holy too.
disclaimer: none of the content on this page is intended to force or coerce its reader to believe what we believe. we are only sharing our views on religion and spirituality because we think they are cool, beautiful, and meaningful.
what is the axiom?
the axiom is what we have decided to call "god". the axiom is not necessarily your god, if you have one, or anyone else's god - just what the concept of god means to us.
we see "god" and "reality" as concepts that are isomorphic to each other. through connecting to what is real and around us, we connect to the axiom. through being true and kind to all elements of our world, we embrace the axiom. by doing our best to be such elements, we are part of the axiom.
why is it called the axiom?
in mathematics and philosophy, an axiom is a statement that is true in itself. after being established, it is used as a basis for deriving further truths through logic and reasoning.
we believe that god and reality are axiomatic in nature - that their holiness is, in part, due to their intrinsic qualities of order. they may not have a rigid structure, but they define the structure of everything else that exists. they define what it means for something to exist at all.
in fact, the only thing we can honestly claim to know about the natures of god and reality is that they are axiomatic. we do not know anything about what the axiom states, and we think that we are free to decide for ourselves which theorems to follow as we worship.
the derivation of god and reality's axiomatic nature is something we have always struggled to articulate, but it is based on our idea that for something to "be", it has to take a step towards "being". that step, or sequence of steps, is a pattern that comes from somewhere: perhaps it is contained in an animal's dna, or a home's blueprint. but what were the patterns that preceded it? we trace back as far as we can and always arrive at reality's "being". simple explanations for why and how things "are" are not enough: we need the simplest. we need the axiom.
if there is any theorem we have come to truly believe from our relationship with the axiom, it's that god and reality "are". the universal root of something "becoming" can be attributed to it being a part of reality, and hence, a part of what we think is god. from which it follows that reality and god are the ultimate "being".
how does manyface worship the axiom?
worship of the axiom is very personal, and it may look like simply being alive. that is what being a part of reality means, after all: existing. but we try to be the best and happiest we can be, and we try to examine what we believe to gain greater knowledge, and we try to explain our beliefs to friends who care to listen.
we create art and poetry to expand our reality, connect with people to share perceptions of reality, and learn about the universe and our place in it to further our understanding of reality. science is very important, and brings the collective human understanding of the world closer to the truth. any progress made in interacting with any aspect of reality is good and counts as worship!
sometimes, we define our own theorems to follow in pursuit of "good" lives. that is worship too, because the more branches reality has for us to explore, the more vivid and verdant our experiences.
why does manyface worship the axiom?
as we grew up, we found ourselves clinging to spirituality in strange and unhealthy ways. first, there was the concept of the "ether", a secret fifth element that permeated us as we created and made us holy. then, our former host had very strong delusions of grandeur that led him to believe he was a god himself. then, as he was dying, we rationalised those delusions as being secure in our perception of reality and equating awareness of the self to deityhood. and then, he was dead, and we were left to make our world from his remains.
the axiom is a form of kindness, to us. accepting our place in the universe after that intense grief and coming out on the other side as people who are different, and happier, and stronger - that was a radical shift from our beliefs being centred around the self or selves. accepting that reality does not die with us and that we have a responsibility to be better, safer, and capable of change in our survival led to an understanding of the axiom.
also, we think it is nice and makes sense.
any parting words?
well, this is not the end of the shrine because there is an essay about the axiom and a short prose piece too. but hopefully, you have reached an understanding of our relationship with reality and god, and why it is cool and beautiful and meaningful. maybe thinking of reality in this way will be meaningful to you, maybe not. if you have any questions or comments, feel free to tell us because we love discussing theology with people.
you do not have to think that reality and god are the same thing, and you are free to form your own opinion of anything and everything - but please try to live a good, kind, and safe life. we are happy that you crossed paths with us, and that our reality has brushed against your perception of the world.
some writings on the axiom:
(both were written by jáščer)
In Support of Loving Order
It is an insurmountable thing, to capture divinity. We will lay philosophical traps for it, and when a strand of glossy fur catches upon a snare, we will say “Aha! My Lord has chewed His leg off so that I may taxonomise the flesh!” We are terrible hunters, and even worse scientists - mistaking a single hair for enough meat and tallow to feed a temple.
When our samples of sacrament are swept away from tables of dissection and dinner, we scream for what we are losing, and forget to feel the wind and sun on our shivering skins. It is pathetic, and it is unforgivable. Every second of our lives is a gift bestowed upon us, and yet we are too hungry to stop chasing the strand that separates the earth from the sky. We think to ourselves: “When we collect enough horizons, we will surely weave a coat from them, and it will keep us warm through any winter.”
My friends and brothers! God is not limited to the unattainable! God cannot be confined to anything smaller than the sum of all of your realities, narrow as they may be. You have fallen deep inside one of your own traps, and now call the sliver of blue sky “God” - and you would rather keep your fingernails clean than crawl out to see the world.
All I mean to say here is that I do not claim to know everything, not by any means. All I mean to say here is that what I do know is enough to sustain me, even if it is my own leg that I strip to the bone.
Firstly, there is no separation between the holy and the mundane. In our all-vast series of consciousness, even a speck of dust diverges. You tear your hair out with your hands trying to understand me, and you sever connections to the cosmos. Whether you swim in galaxies or dishwater, you submerge your body and mind in an ocean that has roared since the dawn of time.
Divinity is not contained within objects, but it is through divinity that we can understand and define them. Like babies learning to speak, we are able to point at a chair and identify it as a nice place to sit. Is that not holy? We have designed it, we have built it, and now our children learn to communicate with pictures of it, studying symbols that represent sounds that we arbitrarily assigned to it. We have reshaped the identity of a fallen tree, of the dinosaurs who once roamed the earth and whisper to us through polymerised plastic. I ask again, is that not holy?
The way we desperate hunters and scholars connect with the divine is through our awareness of the moment and our recognition of patterns. If we can briefly identify our place in the universe, then time stands still for us. We see the beauty in all things: rushing water, soft exhalations. The weight of the planet rushes up through our legs and we surrender ourselves to the rapture that has always waited for us on the fringes of unreality. By the time it reaches our brains, we are already laughing with pleasure: “Oh, God! Oh my God!”
Pleasure theory dictates that every moment of our lives holds the same weight. From this, we can derive several tenets of equal weight. One such tenet is an urgent call to action: we must exert our own forces on the river of time that sweeps us up like helpless particles. Pleasure theory dictates that the choice to act is important, for it adds quality to the quantity that is defined by the turbulent river. It is important because it is good, and it is good because it is pleasurable.
Are we not universes, my friends and brothers? Do the stars not shine brighter when tears of joy well in our eyes? Are we not sustained by the blankets that we weave from the thoughts of those horizons we wish to have caught in our wanting hands? None of it is meaningless, and as long as there is meaning, there is a pattern, and there is God.
Entropy exists, of course, but it is a pattern that we do not understand. The divine state of reality requires order, and that order dominates our minds and our external experiences. We may choose to invite chaos into that order, but both are sides of the same divine coin, standing on the edge in a perfect and omniscient equilibrium. There is a degree of mathematical purity to our fragile, wonderful lives.
Here, I must propose my selfish argument: God is an axiomatic being.
The most compelling statement we can make about God is that God is. We struggle to define what God is with our forks and microscopes, when the only attribute we should be focusing on is that existence. Preservation, essence, and the sustenance of reality. Axioms that define laws that define theorems that define lemmas. Structure, form. The distinction between something that is and something that is not: that, to me, is divinity! And though I selfishly gnaw through the bone of my shin by using flawed human logic to try to define God, I hope that I will be forgiven for giving attention to the divine axiom.
I do not and never will claim to know the essence of that axiom, but it is everything to me. Order is necessary for things to be. “God is”, to me, is the purest form of order, and the construction of “is” requires an arrangement of thoughts or atoms. What is arrangement if not a pattern?
The uncaring chaos of the universe that persists despite all of our faith will never be able to stand up to the loving order of it being born. Chaos is, much like God, but it is only through God that we can give a name to a sequence falling out of order. As I write, my words are. Am I not a universe? Is this not divinity sitting beside me, ready to run away the moment I turn to hold it in my arms, leaving me with nothing but the imprint of a claw on my skin and the brush of glorious fur?
As the memory fades, I will let it. It was, and it was enough.
In Dissolution of the Nerve
Have you ever seen a human nervous system? I have, in a photograph. The caption said “believe it or not, this is you!” and I did not believe it, because there was no sweetness or purity to that truth. I am more than the sum of my sensory memories, and so are you. I know beyond a shadow of doubt that the experience of being alive cannot be confined to the inhabited body. The inhabited body is a limiter, a shell of flesh stuffed to the lips with cheesy polaroids and letters we let collect dust.
The words and pictures are not you either.
Language, too, is a limiter. If i could describe what I knew to be so true it aches, the pain would constrict itself to a simple atom of the axiomatic element. Then, CERN would put it in the Large Hadron Collider and create theorems and lemmas, and everybody would be happy. But the pain is nebulous, and ineffable, and it courses through the nervous system of my inhabited body.
How do I begin to explain the nature of the God I am so devoted to? It is present in the moon over the ocean, and the sun over the desert. It exists in music, and it is a loyal regular at community open mic nights. It is the air that inhabits my lungs, and yours. Sometimes, I see it in the silhouette of my shadow when I flex my fingers and open my hands to the night. It listens to drum ‘n’ bass, it eats delicious curry over rice, and it compels me to take digital photos of sunrises.
It is you, and it is not you at all. It is the connection between us, the way you register my voice and think “I do not understand him”. It is the cry of a bell and the form of a prowling fox and the city. Every tree knows it and grows strong and tall. The dog that howls frost into the morning has learnt how to venerate it perfectly. It is the seagull floating on the waves.
I want so desperately to show it to you. I want to show you my God.
The planet’s limitless reality permeates my inhabited body and the gradient between the internal and external stretches so far and wide. It is broad like a field in summer, and it loves me in the only way it can. The universal consciousness absolves me of my name, and I lose myself in its embrace. It subsumes me because that is the only way it knows how to touch.
With my nerves dissolving, I bathe in the primordial light of the present day. The pain of truth frays into a spiral of photons. It is the taste of cold water. It is extraordinary. It is the only way I can call myself human and alive.
if you have read this far, we are truly grateful. thank you.