Although we are perfect, we sometimes engineer mistakes to alleviate boredom;
Or, the impossibility of performing coherent logical operations involving infinities, part
((a self-condradictory diatribe))

Yes, as a deity, it's only natural for me to know what you're thinking. You sit pondering, imagining that it must be wonderful to be all-powerful, all-knowing, eternal. What a blast, you say, to weave the threads of cosmic being How rewarding, you posit, to spin universes out of nothingness, and set worlds in motion like a child's playthings.

Can you concieve of anything more boring than omniscience? Anything more tiresome than omnipotence? There's no fun in being {God/Brahman/Vishnu/Allah} when concomitantly one knows everything that was, is, and shall be. Nothing is ever suprising, not even one's own prevarication or doctrinal oscillation. That's why one day my avatars and I got together (coalesced would not be too strong a word) and decided that what was needed was a strong dose of finiteness: we would simply will ourselves into a state of ignorance, which makes interesting narrative possible.

You humans have a paradox regarding omnipotence, which is the question, "Can an omnipotent being create a rock which is too heavy for it to lift?" Yes, one can, with the understanding that one's inability to lift said rock is purely dependent upon one's will to delimit one's own lifting capacity below the necessary threshold for a given period. While it is in a larger sense still possible for one to lift the rock, in the period in question, which can be one or more infinities if one exists infinitely, one is unable to heft the thing. Similarly, it is possible to will the scope of one's temporal vision to smaller and smaller geometries, thus allowing for what I, God, like to call the Naked Mole Rat effect: blinded and thrown down a tunnel, finding one's way around is much more exciting than when one is equipped with night-vision and precognitive abilities. It's the same principle that makes your human mystery stories (such as my personal deific favorite, "Murder, She Wrote") so exciting to your pitiful, chronologically minute selves, or which allows the poetry of a bird in flight.

Believe you me, there's no better decision I've ever made in my capacity as Almighty Ruler of the Cosmos than to make myself inept! Over were my days of envying you finite beings your seemingly infinite capacity to party! Why, just last week I had the excitement of discovering a pair of stars in your constellation Pisces that were about to go nova, annihilating no less than twelve separate intelligent species in different states of societal advancement. Imagine the rollicking good time I had attempting to prevent the explosions, and the bathos, pathos, and melodrama that ensued when I was only able to stop the metamorphosis of one of the stars! Man(kind), you should have seen the fireball! Those X'nardians never knew what hit 'em. Fortuitously, however, my compassion is finite now, as well, which makes it notably easier to countenance the destruction of life forms. In fact, it's only due to my newfound tolerance that I allow you humans to continue killing one another and your roommates at such an astonishing speed. But I digress, and anyway I have an appointment with Einstein relatively soon. (Get it? Relatively soon? Oh, I slay me. Quite literally in some mythologies. Ah, it's nice that finity makes humor possible. Otherwise one knows all the punchlines. {Enviable humans.})

Yes, I don't regret limiting myself to the tyranny of limits. I'm much happier now - infinitely more so, in fact - than when I was the large anthropomorphic prime mover of the universe, diddling about with my beard and casting lightning bolts at various species now and then for amusement. Now, everything's different for my avatars and I, for although we are perfect, we sometimes engineer mistakes to alleviate boredom.

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