God came down and made himself a part of each thing. God became each person, each plant, each molecule of every substance, each thing moving and still, varied and the same. God became all of it, individually as well as collectively, in part but also in sum. God became the things that breathe and he became what they were when they ceased breathing. God became the substance of the thing as well as its essence, the particles and the spirit both. And God, being more beautiful and vast than any of these individual things could ever hope to comprehend, lost itself in that myriad fullness, grew to become so integral a part of all those things that it no longer recognized itself in them, even though it was them. And so God dwells now. So you dwell now, lost to the thing which is your nature and your essence and your very substance, lost in a belief of separateness from the one thing which comprises you fully, and lost in a kind of darkness of your own making, wherein God wills itself to be blind for the sheer joy of discovering itself again. And because God is not so small as to be only one, it must be many and one both. We are the many of God—we and all other creatures, all other substance, all other form. We are the perfect completion of God, God separate though indivisible, God lost though already perfect, God as the one that makes up the many, and the many that make up the one. We are God completely, and complete, and we have never been made of anything else.