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“What does it mean?” I asked the demigod. “It means it’s already written,” he replied. “I’m not sure I understand. What’s written?” “Everything.” “Who’s playing the keys?” “Exactly who you think.” If I was following correctly, the demigod seemed to be implying that these invisible hands belonged to God. And what we were witnessing was God playing out the entire universe in real time. “Does that mean--” “Yes.” My whole life —past, present, and future— was somehow just a small part of this tapestry being woven by God’s hands on this piano. Nothing I aspired to, nothing I planned, nothing I wanted out of life was really my own doing, I realized.