As an alternative to the boundless foofaraw that is generated by the corkscrew vision of a single Godhead with a testosterone-fueled personality disorder, I submit an alternate metaphysic: consider that the kingdom of Heaven is within you, and that all the cherubim and so forth are your own flights of delight; consider that each of us is the whole well, the Infinite made manifest. Consider that your entire personality is like a micron on the tippy end of a blooming flowered vine of endless extent, the smallest possible representation of the infinite possibility of your wider and truer (and godly) being.

This enables you, or me, or anyone, to completely let go of floundering diatribes and clashes of personal ire and such nonsense. I think it is a much more satisfactory version of the Universes than the Old Testament rendition of a naughty child at the head of the stairs throwing his tin soldiers down in a fit of pique.