What shall I do with you and My love for you? I think I will keep you and My love. I will swing My love high and hold you in an embrace in Eternity where We live. Infinitely, you are Mine, and I am yours. How simple it is when We cut out all the riff-raff of thinking that goes on in the world.
The world would cut Oneness into many pieces. The world has. The world loves to get into things and have drama and stories to tell, stories of magnificence as well as stories of stony dismay. How the world loves contrast. How the world loves up and down. How the world loves time, and how the world loves space. And how, despite everything, how despite the worst imaginings, how the world loves.
A baby cries, and birds sing, and trains rush, and cars crash, blood flows, and, all the while, love swoops down and makes everything all right. All becomes nothingness in the light of love, and love becomes all, and love, bidden or unbidden, is. Love is the undercurrent, and love is vibrant in everything. There is nothing without love. Love cries out louder than anything else. Love is the great denominator. Concepts of death and taxes are not.
Love is wholeness, and love is wholesome. Anything else is partsome. And, yet, not to contradict Myself, there is no partsome. Particles are examined, and yet particles are not. All words are a name for love. My name is Love, and yours is too.
You are on an exciting adventure on Earth. You who are stillness nevertheless fluctuate in the world. Intrinsically, you flutter in My heart, yet you, the beautiful bird of My heart, you think you fly solo. And so you clutter your time, and you clutter your space so that you can believe in the company of things and spend time even when time does not exist. How you love even the boundaries that hobble you.
Boundaries can only hobble you. Rather, I should say, belief in boundaries hobbles you. You believe in smallness more than you believe in Greatness, and, so, you disavow yourself, and you disavow Me. On Earth, the illusory takes over. You are caught up in it. Even as I hold you in My arms, you are caught up in any number of things. You are a time-traveler in thought. Thoughts commandeer you. Thoughts take you places, and squandered thoughts sequester you from the realization of yourself.
You are a hunter who goes out hunting even as you carry game over your shoulder.
You travel in time and space, even as they do not exist. You exist, and you have never not existed, the Truth of you.
There cannot be a God Who exists only for a time or only in space. If a God is, He is. If a Goddess is, She is. A God does not begin or end. Nor do you. I cannot say that We are long-lived, because there is no short or long about it. Eternity cannot be demarked, though, of course, the world itself is a demarcation of Eternity, and yet, all the world's demarcations are fantasy. A nail is pounded hard into illusion. The world goes by illusion. Illusion is the security blanket that the world cannot get along without and call itself world. A world desires separateness and would abandon Heaven in order to exist or, rather, imagine it does.
All, all in the world is illusion. All except you, and all except Me, and all except love. Aught else is illusion, yet illusion believed in, illusion held onto, illusion as if it were reality, when, in Reality, illusion is not.
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