Stop Worshipping Me, I’m Really Not a God

The Buddha in the temple opened his eyes, while the old dog kneeling in worship removed its own head and placed it on the altar. Above the ninth heaven, a blood moon hung high, its light spilling into the river of time as ancient gods whispered tales of the uncanny.

When I left the mountains, the old folks at home warned me:

“When night falls, don't light a lamp.”

I was careful with my words and actions, and followed the old customs, until one day I suddenly realized: whatever laid down these rules was not human.