Why don't you just become God anon?

So considering Socrates believed he had a guiding spirit, or daemon, that told him what NOT to do, and given I myself have experienced telepathy, I came up with a solution for how the hell this is possible. I think you're getting my point already. Basically, what if I'm not telepathic, but rather I have a daemon that can read other people's minds and relay those thoughts back to me? It makes more sense than saying I have some sort of superpower or everyone else is just defunct. Hell, I considered solipsism as an explanation before, but the daemon is to me the most plausible explanation now. And I'm not truly breaching other minds. It kind of brings telepathy into a philosophical category regarding the nature of reality rather than something harder to explain. Let me know what you think.

There is no breaking the immutable laws of the universe; sculpted into reality by the mind of God like the faces carved into Mount Rushmore,” he said to me, pounding the wooden table so that the coffee in his cup spilt on it. The picture above the kitchen door was cryin and it looked like it was weepin fer me at this moment, like the whole thing was just fer me. I had intimations of it when he looked me straight in my eyes and the Jesus swell swept through the meeting and women put their hands up; “Thank you, Jesus.” Dirty red sweat would run down their temples in the New Mexico heat and they would dab them with their handkerchiefs, maybe their servile initials embroidered on them. The tent breathed with them and seemed to flap by their prayers and he had them all jumping and hollerin so that your heart would race and they’d all just be one motion, or like the waves of the ocean.
“It is written in Hebrews ‘Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. For by it the elders obtained a good report.’ Do you trust in Him with all your heart? Do you know who was there when ye came from your mother’s loins? He was. And He’s here now, yes He is.”
He bunched his hands together in a ball and shook them before his face.
“The rock, the foundation that all this was built on, was my faith alone. He took from Job everything, but he repaid it double.”
I couldn’t bear to look at him at those times. The sick little green halo around his pinprick pupils seemed to swallow up the blue that was left in them. When he drank whiskey the green would be pushed away by his twinkling pupils and mellow blue was his mood. Those times were more frequent during these time. Itinerancy doesn’t work as well these days as it did before and it didn’t work as well in those days as the days before them. But these people wanted God, and God was a lot on daddy’s mind. If an alcoholic can get wet brain, my daddy had its pious brother. Didn’t matter who he was talking to, it was always God. He’d pound down on his dogeared King James: “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.” I never could tell if he loved God or was scared of Him. Regardless, God was like a stink in the core of his person.