Long before leather bindings and chapter numbers,
The stories moved—
Carried by voice,
Painted on stone,
Whispered through myth.
The Bible didn’t invent these tales;
It curated them.
Reframed them.
Layered them with power.
This doesn’t dismiss the sacred,
But it questions the ownership of meaning.
It holds space for those who once believed blindly,
And for those now asking:
Who told this story first—and why?
Stripped of divine branding,
It’s ink on paper.
Layers of narrative,
Patched together by men with agendas.
Sacred, yes—but not untouchable.
Just a book.
And that’s what makes it worth reading.