One day many a moon ago.
There lived a ju̸͉̟̲͉̣͙̇ͅḎ̩̈̋̈́̈́͡Ȇ̵̜̣͌a̢̬̱͉̼͈n̰̼̺͒ who one may know.
His name was י̩̬͍̫ה̭͚ͯ͌͛ͦ̚ו̱͕̬͔̻̍ͬה͙͔̤̔̈̈̆ͥ̾̏
One day, as fields he trot.
IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE?
Came to him an awful thought.
He looked to the sky and said "I am God"
"Heretic!", "Blasphemy!", the people said.
So the plebeians took wood, skean, and thread.
And craved a pentangles into his neck, and sewed a crown on thorns to his head.
And tacked to a Petrine Cross he said
"If we can't find God, we create one instead."
And just like that, God is dead.
THERE IS NO PAIN