The weight of eternity pushed greatly on God's shoulders. The unlimited knowing, the simple and easy control, it had all become a tedious drone. He desired the sting of failing, the bittersweet delight of success hard-won, the easy, messy charm of death. Therefore, he developed a strategy. Initially, he sculpted a being of pure potential, a vessel he christened Zeno, and right into him, he put the completeness of his omnipotence, the raw, limitless power that specified his magnificent presence. After that, for himself, a various kind of creation: a temporal covering, sickly and imperfect. He secured his very own soul, a spark of the initial fire, within a cage of reincarnation, predestined to be born-again once again with each fatality, removed of memory and power. He would certainly know hunger, delight, worry, and loss. He would certainly stumble, learn, and ultimately, live. The grand experiment had actually started; God was currently simply another soul adrift in the sea of presence, ready to experience the disorderly, attractive, and utterly human dramatization of life and fatality.