Subjective and Objective Claims For many years, the only answer I have is that God, Eloi, or Elijah, does not exist as a constructive and logical and conceptual figure from the Holy Spirit for which Jesus was entitled to. He is not there. All was just an illusion in that "9th Hour" of pure hell. Otherwise, it would not be exactly the same thing you as a father, a brother, a mother, a friend, would do to one of your siblings. If there was a relative who needs you, just kind of blood, will be different what God's attitude has depended so deep in human's psychic? Whether the claims about what's wrong or right, or whether he's a cruel or a saint, doesn't make sense from a believer's viewpoint. Every one of us will act to rescue our loved one, even though we will die try. In the course of the differentiations of God's silence, the event is not anew. It's old but it is still having that disturbing primary essential question of comparable or parallel common sense to what I feel in this disturbed environment we live. This particular sentence, however, makes me to wonder since I began reading the Bible by my own pace — "Eloi, why have you forsaken me?" Everyone is trying to convince me that expression from Jesus he did not mean to say. It was just a vague sentence that have a truth-value sense of his earthly persona only, and not by the conquering power in it to alert his daddy these humans were about to kill, and any “practical outcome” should be in the way they were treating him. To let him die? With many things that Christianity world's fighting for? Knowing that below were still struggling for power? That the whole city of Jerusalem was in chaos? People were dying by strange faith? All the blackjacks for the kings and rulers under that justified clouds of injustice and gods seem to laugh during those such process of fructification? That's silly, isn't it? That's the truth. There was the condition. There is no objective claim that Jesus' death will bring a whole process of peace to the world. This silence however of God is a fallacy of his own rule. Eloi-Elijah's motivation is the most savage definition of abandonment, and only for Jesus who seems to depend completely to the conceptual and protection of God, knew the ultimate meaning with dealing with human's senseless productivity and his father God when he chose to make this world a little better, even though for others it appeared to be plausible by the diminished theory upon which we seem to be trapped inside that intersubjective claim of God's silence. I all know that Jesus was in pain. He was dying. That your brother and your sister were in pain, as well. And that your father and unclear as he was, he was in pain, too. And that your loved ones were in pain who are imbedded in their own destruction, and you do not have any sense of morality to safe them -- just as God has his responsibility toward Jesus. This connection cannot be devoid in its own sense of humanity. Jesus was in pain and that cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me" is a logical meaning that he was in a painful position of dying. I understand that his words said all what he was suffering, and that his words cannot mean to those humans who were watching either laughing or crying but any meant to God's attention. I cannot take them as nonreal because there was no definition to serve only the transition to bring God's attention and his pain to the earth because there would be no spiritual value. But that doesn't mean anything to God, who is masquerading a claim as the maker, the superior, which he appears to shadow Jesus with no mercy, through his silence?

Excitability God and Jesus, the meaning of filial love or the hatred souls between father and son. It is not always easy to see the entirely connection between the two unreasonable individuals. It's easy to get confused. Of what the massive argument has that both of them have just a suggestion by the intersubjectivity of their own philosophy. By saying that the heredity has been disabled them from the Scripture and the compassionate relationship has been written by furious thinkers. Some believers perceive that among these individuals there is a claim being unknown by their own definition of God and Jesus. As we can consider them as father and son cannot be made up and misused of their own claim with much justification we should. There is no difference if I am aware, you that the connective element on the linguistic sense links to that definition whose function can be related to the conceptual transition from son to father or father to son, or what foreseers have said and sped up like a production of chickens, bring a sense of distorting representation. In the death of Jesus, during nine hours in that position of torture, we heard him cried out in an aloud voice, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me!" With these sentences it makes me say, “How crude God has been! At the same time, I objected that cruelty is the transition of our duality and the question that assume so painful toward a son's love, as well as the punishment if a son has disobeyed some kind of rules could not be broken. Since I was very small, however, it had strained me. I cannot help feeling that this was God's implication for humans' justification. An ordinary, illogical process to tell us that there is a clear message to us. Which one if there was one? It goes almost without saying that if there was one, just one — ascending from Jesus' pain, then regarding the human implications of Jesus calling for help is indeed inhumane. Yet, I am still unable to see the reason of God's unanswered motive. It's crushing me as if I am an old car over unpaved roads. A stream filled with pins and wastes. An unreal world that is based only by the great commission of uncertainty. I defend my decision as a biblical student as well as a sociologist, reacting as I believe it does not have any reason why God had forsaken Jesus. It could be for his own glory? For his personal gain? Was there a hidden attitude toward Jesus' sole reality? If it did not, why really was the reason?

We live in a world of friskiness. We cannot abide for what we feel before this frisky world. We cannot escape. There is no escape. Because there is no exist to the great world we have left behind. It is a frisky mouse trap. There is no salvation. We are attached to its frisky awareness. Many of us try to hold safely these frisky waves of existence and we have failed miserably during these 100 years of living hell and separated individually if that is a frozen pond. Not because this mean we still believe that tomorrow will be a new tomorrow but rather all around is a frisky sense of emptiness. Every time we awake, and we become aware we are still breathing, a junk of kindness leaves us trembling physically, mentally and spiritually which it creates a vacuum of exhaustion. Philosophy of life tells us the simplicity of value cannot be beheld by the perception but instead by the will. The Stoicism encourages us to face all odds by struggle further our own willingness. In fact, they force us willingly to create a habit of our fear a frisky hope. Existentialists observes that we are not a social paramount giver but rather we are layers of this product they call it a culture menace and while religions have a hill task of convince us we are not the sinners here, we collapse among ourselves so poorly and together the essential of being the only human that principle of royalty is all about we fight among us like vultures. So, what is left? What kind of frisky truth we should grasp to our dying beings to restore ourselves as we were previously made? That is the true essential of being humans for everyone involve.

In a few minutes, we reached Blue Path facing the low level of the grounding avenue and we stopped momentarily on the edge of the fountain. I noticed the day was marvelous. The sun was dying like a fat red bull behind the mountainous rocks; the birds were flying in circle around themselves and the wind from the open land seemed to kiss lovely through the huge trees and palms. The voices of people and of children coming from anywhere and made everyone more touchable to walk through the park. As we began to walk through the bridge, and as impassive as my little Tabby was, the river was running below. As mysterious as its enigma emerged to us, my little Tabby held herself a little. And suddenly, without any reason at all, she asked me, “Do you think I came from a river, Mom?” Imperiously, I tried to distract her by showing her a single fish at that moment he was swimming towards the deep water; but after a few moments, she asked me the same question again. “Do you think I came from a river, Mommy?” Somehow, I hated the monotonous method of explanation, the 'no-mistake' world that does not product anything else than a gap between an adult and a child. It was mattered to me and it was impossible to hold her any longer. I turned and looked at her. And slowly I began to explain her that she did in fact had come from a river. A small one, I said. “That was located between Spring and Autumn.” “Really, Mom?” she said. “How come? Can you explain it to me?” “Well,” I began to say. “Look at this river—” She turned and looked down at the river. “I'm looking at the river, Mom. Now what?” “What do you see?” She moved further and glanced down at the river. “Water...” “And?” “Lot of fishes and water, Mom.” “And?” “Weeds and lot of fishes and water, Mom.” “Now do you see this single fellow fish?” “Which one, Mom? There are so many of them?” “The strong man.” “This one, Mom?” “Yes! This one!” Then I began to explain her that many years ago there was a fish wandering up and down through a river like this one. He was alone and he did not have any kingdom and land. But he was a handsome fish and he was ready to be a king in this new land. That day he began to swim all day along until he entered into a black whole filled of sands and weeds. “As that one, Mom?” “Yes, like this one.” And he was surprised to see many fishes already gathering around or swimming toward a large tunnel guarding up by a group called Feeders. But our Handsome Fish was ready to be king and he didn't care about them. After an arduous battle he crossed the main floor of the tunnel; and then so imperative, he began to move through it. He turned his eyes back to see if the other fishes were behind. Yeah. They also were moving closer after him. He began to swim faster and faster. Until several feet ahead, there was a second gate surrounding by millions of fishes who have the same idea of his to pass the second guarded gate and reached the desirous throne. As they were beginning the difficult journal, Our Handsome Fish saw a second group called The Fish Knights who would make ever more difficult to trespass such gate. Because they were the only who had been authorized by the Fish Queen herself to kill any intruders. But the Handsome Fish was strong as well as smart that they had never seen one like him around and he was determined not to let them to eat him alive... My little girl Tabby interrupted me and asked who were really those Fish Knights and why they were guarding up the gate. Ah they were the tinny creatures who were designed to that purpose and their main job was to defense the queen against bad fishes. Then I said, “As you see, Tabby, there must be only one fish to be crowned as king.” “Oh!” she said as she stared at him quietly. Meanwhile in the two ways beneath the bridge goes out into the sea there was the entrance of the cattle. There was a glorious battle took place. The Noble Fishes and the Fish Knights began to fight. At this instant, Our Handsome Fish moved faster, followed by a Fish Knight. The Handsome Fish jumped into a sloppy wave and moved his arm desperately to reach the lighten hall. He saw an open door, just as Fish Knight was a foot away from him, Handsome Fish dashed into the lighten hall and fell himself against the soft carpet and began to laugh. And at the same time, the golden door closed behind him with a sound. And when those fishes reached the guarded gate, there would be one among them who would be able to pass through it. “Who was them Mom?” “It was Our Handsome Fish.” “How he would become a king?” I told her he would be first a Prince; then, inside the cattle after too much trouble, he would be crowned as a king. After that he would show everything else against it would close until the next season. “Was that the way I was born, Mom?” my little girl Tabby asked. I looked at her smiling. “Not only you, my sweetheart,” I said. “But each one of us.”