While we're in Puskas season;
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sek8FbRQKw0
I've often wondered what it would be like to see the face of God. Whether or not mortal man could comprehend seeing His true form. Would you even know? Upon seeing something of such beauty, of such power, of such age; both sublime and intimate, both familiar and grotesque - the layers of liminality must break a man. Would the human mind simply refuse to acknowledge what was put before it? Would the subconscious salvage your flesh and bone, spare your senses to such a sight? Indeed, would it even be a sight? The intense synethesia of that experience - can one taste God, smell God, hear God? I'd like to think so. An event so inexplicable in mere words, so incomprehensible in rationality, must surely rush though your frame and pour out of your existence. Nothing could be comprehended but the notion that the incomprehensible faced you, nothing but the vagaries of import could assault you. You'd go mad. You'd go mad, but become sane - break the bondages of vainglorious blood and humours to glimpse the immortal, ascend to the higher consciousness. Various men throughout history have claimed to see God, spoken to God, even received guidance from God, but to witness something like that would not leave you in the land of the living. It would be sudden, instant, a flash, yet endless and eternal; a crashing wave that washes your fickle past away and leaves you rootless in this world. There is no after, and there would be no before, because the intensity of experiencing, of being subjected to, such a calamity would be catastrophic. Could one hear the mountains crumble and the oceans drain in their ears? Would the bodies of billions fall in a single sound, would the Earth crack with a single bolt? Everything you've ever known - everything you could ever know - suddenly ripped from you, scoured away in a caustic presence. I imagine pain would be as strong as love, fear as potent as calm, madness as sudden as clarity. An utter, utter tragedy. Plans torn asunder, relationships dissolved, whole lives razed as the body shuts down the world and the world shuts down the body, transfixed and transported by a heavenly image. Winded. Maybe we're not built for such a meeting. Could God arise everyday as us dismiss it as an aberration, an anomaly, a fierce breakage of the rules so damning that we select ignorance over elucidation? Could it be so strong the it becomes weak, so overbearing as to fade to nought? I wish it on nobody, yet who could resist? Is that not why we're here - to trudge on until the sudden meeting? Sisyphus with a suicide, Icarus to a flame, we're all fated to one day engage in this experience, aren't we? But to see it before your time - a peak through the curtain of the real into the theater of cruelty - that's not a fate. It's a punishment and it's a prize. A victory and a defeat. A completion and a dissolution. To witness beauty in all its forms, to see the face of love; and to know everything ended there. I often wonder if I've ever seen it. I wonder if I'm broken man.
Thanks to Joey Garner's goal - I'm no closer to finding an answer.
But I do know what it's like to scream 'FUCKING CUNT' at the TV in a Weatherspoons and shout 'DID YOU SEE THAT FUCKING THUNDERBASTARD?' at a groups of kids having a birthday party.