يمنات
Yemenat
Ahmd Saif Hashed
In my childhood, God appeared to me as a man, embodying many human traits. I could imagine Him in various states of anger, joy, and delight, often picturing Him as a gigantic figure—sometimes so immense that it blurred the clarity of my imagination, making the image hazy, especially when I stretched His size beyond comprehension.
I would ask about God, trying to visualize Him as a colossal man, perhaps lounging on a massive couch or lying on His stomach above a smooth sky that resembled a mirror. His head would hang down toward us, watching our actions and observing us from His place. At times, I imagined Him resting on a grand bed or sitting on a majestic throne, carried by eight great angels, or so I was told.
Depending on my mood and the answers I received, I also envisioned God getting angry at my questions, threatening me with punishment and fire. He saw me in all circumstances, tracking my steps and watching me constantly, accompanied by two angels, each the size of a man, who followed me everywhere—one on my right recording my good deeds and the other on my left noting my sins until the time of reckoning.
I would ask my mother and God questions that I felt might anger Him. With a natural curiosity, I found myself perplexed with every question that erupted within me, often finding no answers or doubting the responses I received, leaning toward the belief that they were falsehoods after initially accepting them.
At times, my mother would ignore my questions, while at other times, she would respond in ways I could not fathom. In response to some shocking inquiries, I could see the fear and horror etched on her face.
Some questions, regardless of their size, knocked on the doors of great truths, often drowning in details that would not occur to adults. Certain questions would leave my mother speechless, overwhelmed by fear and horror, prompting her to warn me sternly of terrifying consequences, silencing my inquiries with great severity.
The suppression of questions was not confined to home; I encountered it even at school. There, they taught us that God was everywhere and that nothing resembled Him. This made it impossible for my imagination to grasp Him. When one student insisted on illustrating the concept, the teacher awkwardly responded, “God is green and dry.” This answer became a source of jokes and mockery, leaving me unable to envision God and His essence—He became beyond my imagination.
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