Bathroom Monologue: Trying to think up a new religion for this fantasy novel

"This is not like European monotheism or trinitarianism, Alfred. The closest that comes to them are the old Greeks who saw gods everywhere. But these people don’t have a Zeus or Hera. There aren’t human avatars for them. They think most of the gods hate them and couldn’t comprehend something like Yahweh becoming Christ. Here, the river is a god. Every fork it takes is another god. Every fistful of earth is an alien and powerful entity to these people, and they don’t trust them. They hate the world. Flash foods ruin their crops, winds knock over their homes and wild animals eat their young and sick. Sickness! These people figured out that disease was an alien entity long before we did. They see disease the same way they see jackals: things the bigger world spit out to hurt them. If they can put reins on an ox, then the ox is a pet, but not a friend or equal. The world is only so amiable as they can force it to be. We’re afraid of rats, but they hate see them as in league with hurricanes. They’re still not convinced the Europeans aren’t unreasonable earth spittle sent to kill them. Their hatred of the world is why they strip mine. Their gods aren’t transcendent; they want to rip the literal heart out of landscapes that have caused them so much grief, so long as that heart has ore in it that will benefit them. The world is not their friend. Their religion has not tried to be at peace with the land, the sea or the divine. Since the beginning, they’ve been at war with all of it."