The Body, the Divine, and the Illusion of Authority

This essay was born out of my time in Malaysia, where being immersed in a Muslim-majority culture stirred long-held questions I have about religion, spirituality, control, and the way human bodies—especially women’s—are policed in the name of belief.

Religion has always fascinated me—not because I believe in it, but because of what it reveals about humanity. The rituals, the rules, the scriptures, the moral codes—all of it points less to divinity and more to psychology. To me, religion feels like a collective coping mechanism: a human attempt to make sense of existence, fear, desire, death, and power.

At its core, scripture is not divine text descending from the heavens. It is writing. Written by humans. Translated by humans. Interpreted, revised, and enforced by institutions—historically dominated by men. That alone doesn’t mean wisdom can’t exist within religious texts, but it does mean they are not neutral, infallible, or immune to bias. What is often presented as “God’s word” is more accurately a reflection of the social structures, fears, and power dynamics of the time in which it was written.

One of the clearest examples of this is how religion treats the human body—especially women’s bodies.

Across many religious traditions, women are instructed to cover themselves: their hair, their skin, their shape. This is framed as modesty, morality, or spiritual discipline. But when examined honestly, the logic underneath is deeply flawed. Rather than teaching men restraint, emotional regulation, or accountability, societies chose an easier route: regulate women instead.

The unspoken premise is simple—men cannot control themselves, therefore women must. Women must cover up, dim themselves, make themselves smaller, quieter, less visible. Their bodies are treated not as expressions of life or art, but as threats. This is not spiritual wisdom; it is patriarchal convenience disguised as morality.

The human body is not inherently sexual. It is form, movement, energy, presence. Sexualization is a mental construct—one shaped by culture, power, and conditioning. Yet instead of interrogating why bodies are objectified, religions codified that objectification into law. Shame became a moral tool. Control became virtue. Obedience became holiness.

This pattern extends beyond dress codes. Religion has historically functioned as a way to impose order in chaotic environments—to regulate reproduction, lineage, inheritance, and behavior at scale. It offers certainty where uncertainty is uncomfortable. It provides answers so people don’t have to sit with the terror of not knowing. In that sense, religion is less about truth and more about emotional security.

But truth does not require authority.

I don’t believe divinity lives in books, institutions, or rules. I believe it lives within consciousness itself. We are not separate from God—we are expressions of it. You are God. I am God. Not in an egotistical sense, but in a fundamental one: consciousness experiencing itself through form. There is no external judge, no hierarchy, no intermediary required.

This idea isn’t new. Variations of it exist in mysticism, indigenous belief systems, non-dual philosophies, and spiritual traditions that were often suppressed precisely because they removed the need for control. When divinity is internal, authority collapses. You don’t need priests. You don’t need permission. You don’t need fear-based obedience.

That level of freedom is terrifying for systems built on compliance.

People often react defensively to this perspective—not because it’s incoherent, but because it destabilizes identity. Religion becomes fused with selfhood, family, culture, and safety. Questioning it feels like an existential threat. So dissenters are labeled heretical, immoral, unstable, or dangerous. Especially women. Especially women who speak clearly, directly, and without apology.

I don’t reject spirituality. I reject hierarchy masquerading as holiness. I reject shame presented as virtue. I reject the idea that human bodies are problems to be managed rather than expressions to be honored. I reject the notion that ancient social control mechanisms should dictate modern consciousness.

What remains when all of that falls away is responsibility. Radical responsibility. No rules to hide behind. No doctrine to absolve us. Just awareness, choice, and accountability.

That may be uncomfortable. But it’s honest.

And for me, honesty is the closest thing to the divine.