How it is to be God

It all starts so simple, almost casual, like a friend returning from a brief walk, no galaxies unfolding, suns bursting. To be God, it's nothing like you might expect. I make no thunderous declarations, usually, or create grandiose displays of power. It's more like sitting on the porch, watching the birds fly by. I see everything, the gentle summer breezes, the rustling leaves, the distant laughter of children.

Perfection? Yes. It's like everything falls precisely into place no matter how you throw them, a cosmic order where everything aligns just right. But really, it's more about being okay with the way things are. It's seeing the beauty, the chaos, harmony or disarray, and being happy.

And thought, oh, thought is an interesting thing. It pops up, unbidden, a gentle ripple in the calm sea of existence. It's not about grand plans or cosmic shifts. It's wondering, 'What if the sky was a bit more blue today?' or 'What do leaves feel when they fall?' Simple things.

"How it is to be God" isn't a tale of divine might or ancient wisdom. It's a story of simplicity. It's realizing that even when you have the power to change the stars, what you end up doing is watching them twinkle in the quiet night, with a glass of red wine made out of the ancient grapes of Calliope. It's a gentle exploration of existence from a viewpoint where everything is known, yet every moment is a discovery.

It's about finding the extraordinary in the ordinary, and realizing that even at the center of the cosmos, the simple act of being is the most marvelous adventure of all.