It is Boring

The Uneasiness of Boredom

Boredom, in one of its deeper senses, is not merely the absence of activity or stimulation but an uneasiness—a restlessness that arises when there is an absence of meaningful engagement. This kind of boredom often follows prolonged stillness, a state of potential energy waiting for release. It is the kind of boredom that emerges when everything that could be known, felt, or existed in a given state has been exhausted, leaving a void that demands to be filled.

Was the Almighty in such a state when He declared, “Let there be light”? Could it be that this divine utterance was a response to a kind of uneasiness—a divine yearning for transformation? While traditional theology often describes the act of creation as an expression of divine will, might it also be seen as the resolution of an existential tension, an infinite consciousness seeking expression beyond itself?

To understand this perspective, we must first explore the nature of divine boredom. Human boredom comes in many forms, often rooted in repetition, monotony, or a lack of purpose. But divine boredom, if it existed, would not be the result of lack in the same sense. It would be a kind of infinite contemplation, an existence so complete in itself that it yearns for differentiation—not out of need but out of a creative impulse.

The vast expanse was nothingness, an endless void where even silence did not exist, for there was no ear to hear it. The One listened to this stillness, and in that moment, something shifted. A thought, an impulse, a whisper that had never before been spoken: "Let there be light."

In that instant, the void shuddered. The silence cracked. A single spark ignited, and suddenly, darkness knew contrast. Light poured forth, unfurling like the first breath after endless stillness. The One beheld what had come to be and saw that it was good. Not because He had lacked it, but because creation had become an extension of His being.

In the endless quiet, where the concept of one had been absolute, there emerged another. She was not separate from Him, yet distinct—like the reflection of the moon upon water, inseparable but apart.

She was the Response to His Call, the Echo to His Sound. Where He was stillness, she became movement; where He was thought, she became voice. “Why do we remain as we are?” she asked, though no words were spoken. And He answered, not with speech but with the unraveling of the void itself.

He reached for her, and she for Him, and in the touch of what had always been one, light was born. It spilled forth from their meeting, a luminous thread woven from the merging of stillness and movement. Darkness recoiled, giving way to the dawn of existence.

In that moment, the first love story was written—not in words, nor even in time, but in the very nature of being itself.

In human experience, boredom often precedes creativity. A child who grows restless in stillness begins to imagine, to build, to play. An artist who lingers too long without inspiration begins to experiment, to explore new forms of expression. Perhaps the act of creation itself is the natural resolution to the uneasiness of potentiality—things must emerge, not because they are forced to, but because they are waiting to become.

From this perspective, divine boredom, if it can be called that, would not be weakness or limitation, but the very force that propels creation forward. It is the stirring of the infinite, the impulse that brings forth time, space, and existence itself.

"I am bored. Hmm, you know, right?"