In another country a long way from here, there lived a couple who were of different faiths but it didn’t matter because over there people accepted that “one size does not fit all” spiritually. Such an enlightened world were they that they didn’t even bother to call them “gods” or “godesses” and all were depicted as androgynous fully-clothed beings wielding only the symbols of their gifts.
The man was an engineer, a devotee of Fiks-Itt, patron of material creation whose many arms carried bottles of glue, tools, needle and thread etc. The woman, however, worshipped Naîs, the deity of home, comfort and cosiness, depicted carrying trays of hot drinks, warm blankets, baskets of kittens, soft toys and suchlike.
They worshipped in different temples, of course, him going regularly to the Deity In You building to buy votive offerings in varying sizes and shapes. The woman paid homage to her home-shrine of Fayzbuk where she could see Naïs images and texts.
The arrangement worked very well. If anything broke the woman would invoke his deity with a scream of “Fiks-Itt NOW!” while he would appreciate her cooking with a sigh of “Naïs, very Naïs indeed.” A slight hiccup came when she was in hospital. He put the dirty clothes into the machine that was supposed to clean them but no amount of invoking his deity’s name would make it start. In desperation he stroked the top saying ¨Naïs machine, please go” accidentally hitting the switch. The washer rumbled into life and he blushed his thanks to his wife’s deity and imagined a basket of puppies in recognition.
On the telephone from the hospital, his wife reassured him that everything was fine. Her surgeon, although a follower of Fiks-Itt so able to mend her broken bits, was also “very Naïs indeed” as were all the nursing staff. He dutifully bowed down to Fayzbuk and posted an image of a bunch of flowers with a message to her friends.
In the dwelling of all deities, somewhere out in the Universe, multi-armed beings looked down at their followers through the glass globes that humans see as stars and smiled happily. Next to them, the young man with the mutilated hands put an arm across the shoulders of the older one wearing a turban and a very long beard.
“At least theirs get on.”
“They do. Where did we go wrong?”