On the book of Job: perhaps it will suffice to simply convey an insight and then attempt to describe it. No creature of life suffers more than man, and man as a creature of life needs to know why he is alive.
Needless suffering imposes upon this need an influence in the way the demand configures the explanation for its reason of living. Our Divine conceptions are contaminated by what forces suffering upon us without reason.
What is greater than having faith? Perhaps having faith in faith? Poor Job speaks and listens for us all. Divine punishment must have provocation for us to reap what human utterances sow with 'a fool's lips and mouth that invites the beating.' But the reality of the divine perspective doesn't act according to our understanding of it.
God's rebuttal seems less concerned with proclaiming proof of being incomprehensible than testing to what extent the fact that we conceive the divine without divinity can be revealed to us by something that is divine.
Our existence is given to the whims of forces beyond our control and chance irrevocably brings the rub of bad accidents that foster glimpses that bear to realize what life is powerless against. This helpless feeling of helplessness creates problematic associations that are in stark contrast to the notions the mind postulates in reaction to experience.
For the sense that derives purpose from the need to know a reason to exist. That subdues control over life by claiming dominion over what suffers less from living and clinching all that can be safely assumed from what is taken in relation to being powerless against us.
But the feeling remains and desperately seeks shelter from worldly woes by ascribing human perceptions onto nature, to personify a representation of our nature with what our current condition of life cannot live with being immutably true.
Ignorance posits our own virtues to personify what we are powerless against to be propitiated. Virtues created from the consequence of living ignorant of life
Nevertheless, when our mouth is shut and our eyes begin speak, they seek sense from reflection in the mirror of reality. But our knowledge of life comes less from knowing how to live than from the truths we tell to our wisdom.
Human wickedness begins in the heart's absence to accept a life of suffering.
And the only real sin is that we too often fail to find more reasons to feel joy.
Does the human spirit ever really believe in anything beyond what is apparent to its condition?
When life contradicts us, the soul grows fond of finding reasons to love. When the madness of love has reason enough to shine is it not unacceptable for this love to be received with nothing but tragic indifference?
Does our comprehension of the divine ever consider conceiving that its nature is formulated with what knowledge regards to reality?
Can we ever receive an answer outright from what is beyond our ability to question?
This book is no poem tributing existence so much as it is the psyche's plea to cease existing. Unable to grapple or grasp the reason in a world where suffering doesn't conform to our need for it to have one.
Can human life live without meaning, or can we continue regarding purpose from a world where life is not beyond comprehensibility?
Our grasp of the ideal is concealed by our understanding of what is real about life.
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