God opened His left eye, His eye of silver, and saw that it was Good. Below and above and beside him the universe spun, in brilliant clockwork, deliberate, delicate, perfection: each glittering gear perfectly fitted to the next. Upon the clockwork rings and stars His people danced in utter joy. God listened to His people sing, and no matter where His vast eye looked, He could see no sorrow, perceive no flaw. About Him intricate harmonies rose and swelled, and the silver eye of God was filled with joy.
And God sighed, and opened His right eye, His eye of red, and with His red eye, looked at one edge of his delicate universe, one small gear where no one danced or sang, though even in its isolation, it was utterly beautiful. And the red eye of God pierced the small gear. And where the red eye pierced, a curtain that was not quite a curtain arose, a harsh red shimmer against small gear, which continued to turn in its utter perfection. And God bent to the shimmer and blew.
And into the shimmer he blew many things: beauty and joy, and chaos and entropy and bitterness and pain. And God shut His silver eye, and with His red eye, saw that it was good, and with His red eye, stepped through the shimmer, to the new universe that awaited him. A universe with agony and pain, where His ears would be filled with ceaseless cries of pain and despair and reproach instead of the unending harmonies of perfect joy that had soothed him for countless aeons.
But at least, God knew, He would not be bored.