I have known many gods. He who denies them is as blind as he who trusts them too deeply.
It may be the blackness averred by the Nemedian skeptics, or Croms realm of ice and cloud, or the snowy plains and vaulted halls of the Nordheimers Valhalla. Let me live deep while I live; let me know the rich juices of red meat and stinging wine on my palate, the hot embrace of white arms, the mad exultation of battle when the blue blades flame and crimson, and I am content.
I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content.