"One time, as the cold wind blew and she kept watch over the playground, Aomame realized she believed in God.  It was a sudden discovery, like finding, with the soles of your feet, solid ground beneath the mud.  It was a mysterious sensation, an unexpected awareness.  Ever since she could remember, she had always hated this thing called God.  More precisely, she rejected the people and the system that intervened between her and God.  For years, she had equated those people and that system with God.  Hating them meant hating God.

Since the moment she was born, they had been near her, controlling her, ordering her around, all in the name of God, driving her into a corner.  In the name of God, they stole her time and her freedom, putting shackles on her heart.  They preached about God's kindness, but preached twice as much about his wrath and intolerance.  At age eleven, Aomame made up her mind and was ultimately able to break free from that world.  In doing so, though, much had been sacrificed.

If God didn't exist, then how much bright my life would be, how much richer.  Aomame often thought this.  Then she should be able to share all the beautiful memories that normal children had, without the constant anger and fear that tormented her.  And then how much more positive, peaceful, and fulfilling her life might be.

Despite all this, as she sat there, her palm resting on her belly, peeking through the slats of the plastic boards at the deserted playground, she couldn't help but come to the realization that she belived in God.  When she had mechanically repeated the words of the prayer, when she brought her hands together, she had believed in a God outside the conscious realm.  It was a feeling that had seeped into her marrow, something that could not be driven away by logic or emotion.  Even hatred and anger couldn't erase it. 

But this isn't their God, she decided.  It's my God.  This is a God I have found through sacrificing my own life, through my flesh being cut, my skin ripped off, my blood sucked away, my nails torn, all my time and hopes and memories being stolen from me.  This is not a God with form.  No white clothes, no long beard.  This God has no doctrine, no scripture, no precepts.  NO reward, no punishment.  This God doesn't give, and doesn't take away.  There is no heaven up in the sky, no hell down below.  When it's hot, and when it's cold, God is simply there.

...

Aomame pondered the idea of God.  God has no form, yet is able to take on any form.  The image she had was of a streamlined Mercedes coupe, a brand-new car just delivered from the dealer.  An elegant, middle-aged woman coming out of that car, in the middle of an expressway running through the city, offering her beautiful spring coat to the naked Aomame.  To protect her from the chilly wind, and people's rude stares.  And then without a word, getting back in her silver coupe."


Haruki Murakami, "1Q84"