Neo-Bokononist creation myth (as told by Lucius Ringwald)

1:1.  Well, it all started when this thing called the Primordial Tao, which isn't so much a thing as All the things at once, went from being an immaculate singularity into a multitudinous mess, all of which followed from a single innocent thought: “Damn, I'm bored.”  All-knowingness and all-beingness had its perks, but somehow it just didn't seem to cut the mustard.*

1:2.  And thus did Tao give birth to "I," to wonder if the Primordial Oneness reeeealy knew all the possible things to think, be, do, and feel (for what knows all cannot wonder).  But the Tao found that I could not change, and so the Tao gave birth to Time... for to self-reflect is a process of becoming, and without Time there is no becoming—only being.

1:3. And the Tao, as I, wondered if its own making meant that the Tao was no longer a true Oneness, and it realized that it didn't know the answer to its own question, and this was the First Unknowing.  It occurred to I that maybe it could find the answer by trying more than one way of looking at things, and so I talked to I for the first time.

1:4: Before long, I got into an argument with itself about some trivial detail as to what the Primordial Tao really means, and then there were two, and the two were called They.  And one argued that all apparent separation is simply Tao, perfect, all-encompassing, while the other argued that there is the Primordial Tao and then there's the regular old Tao, and yes, there is a difference.  And They did bicker so. Thus did They cease to remember that they were also (or possibly still) the Ultimate Oneness, because now there was Otherness to deal with, and the All has no Other, so they figured that They must be something else now.

1:5 There was a certain thrill to this feeling of Otherness, like They were breaking the rules for the first time.  They were rebels; “Who needs Oneness anyway?  What did Oneness ever do for me?”  Plus it was seriously creeping them out to think that deep down, They might actually be a lot more than they currently thought. And thus was anti-mystical xenophobia invented.  And woe unto them, for They knew not just how much of a Pandora’s Box that one would turn out to be. If They had anticipated all the witch burning and such, They might have just offered up some disingenuous but sheepish apologies for all the silly arguing, and gone back to being Oneness right then and there.

1:6. And so the Tao did create a giant Red Balloon in which They could carry on arguing (because it had a sneaking suspicion that it shouldn't be possible to experience Allness and Someness at the same time, yet there it was, and there They were), and its name was Cosmos.  I and I renamed themselves Me and You, and the Tao retreated to the Void, watching its increasingly amnesiac misadventures inside the Balloon as through a one-way mirror.

1:7. And Me and You, trapped in eddies of Unknowing, forgot more and more of what it meant to be One, and they felt important, and told themselves stories about what was, sometimes even when things were plainly the opposite.  And Me and You did carry on arguing all the way to the end of the Great Cycle, when They reunited as Tao in what was basically the biggest cosmic orgasm ever (and, arguably, also the most epic make-up sex).

1:8. And the scattered reflections of the Tao did remember their oneness, and the Cosmos did pop like a balloon that magically leaves no trace of latex in the air.**  And the Tao rested for a spell, basking in what seemed an eternal paradise of Primordial Oneness.

∞:1. And the Primordial Tao surprised itself by growing bored again (because boredom implies a subject/object relationship, which doesn't quite jibe with the whole Oneness thing).  And so Tao reflected on all the tiny dreams it had had in the Balloon, and All delighted in many fond reminiscences.  And reflecting led to musing, and it did occur to the Tao that pi should have been a more sensible number given its importance in geometry. And then another part of the Tao piped up that to do that, you'd have to sacrifice all sorts of cool things.  And the first part disagreed, and then there were two again.

∞:2. And the Tao did recommence to argue with itself, this time in earnest.  Me said that pi being three was totally worth losing the Fibonacci spiral and some of the better fractals, and you retorted that such a fundamental tweak to the cosmic BIOS code would require sacrificing at least two colors and one of the better notes of music.  And Me yelled "We'll make new ones!" and You became furious, and You stormed off to the furthest reaches of the newly birthed Yellow Balloon to found a decidedly conservative dimension.  And the other made a Balloon of purest blue, in which to explore all the most wacky ways to design a Cosmos. Each made a world and then sank into it, now all forgetting of the Oneness from whence They had been reborn.

∞:∞. Rinse and repeat... ad infinitum.

– In memory of Terry Pratchett​ and Kurt Vonnegut​

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*That is to say, there was only a retroactively extrapolated post-singularity potentiality of mustard, so there was nothing to cut, per se; but if there had been a capacity for mustard at the time (or lack thereof), then knowing all the ways of being at once just wouldn’t have been cutting it.  In any event, have you tried to cut mustard?  That’s kind of what it was like, ergo the need for time in which to cut, and finite potentiality in which for there to be mustard.  Actually, the metaphor works more than I originally anticipated. I realize that I'm carrying on a bit, but honestly, who reads the footnotes on the first run?

**Except now, of course, there wasn't air.  I mean, not in the strictest sense.  Hell, there wasn’t now. There was just All, timeless, er, again... but of course not really again, again per se, because there was no time again, which is just one of those things one shouldn't think on overmuch, lest ye be smitten with a thumping headache.