You alone, dear one, are your life’s significance and pleasure. It originates in your ability to feel joy and find charm in the world you visit. Trust this ability to appreciate and do not let yourself be confused with what others find exciting. Look to the things that delight you and let them resoundingly delight you by never checking to see if they pass the test of other opinion.

You know to embark on the day with simplicity. You see and hear and touch and meet: the leaf tenderly pressed in a book, the baby’s first shoes, the dawn. These are the special whispered moments unique to this Earth experience. They touch your true heart for they come to you as gifts of your spirit. In recognizing them for what they are you make the world soft and kind. This is you as a human. Live her. Enjoy her. Be her. No longer look over your shoulder at what others do, or if they approve.

A promise kept is the world you create with the very little garden growing in the corner of your room while the candle’s steady flame illuminates the playful clay figures dancing on a nearby shelf. Your childlike world is poetry for your Soul is a Poem in action and movement and intent.

(Are you coming into view for yourself?) Use your own perception, not the words from others to bring reality to you. You want more than words. You want what needs no words. You want your peaceful, simple feeling self that appears to have no other purpose but to join you in soulful attendance to what is of you … invisible.

Oh, how fine is your Soul. How refined in its perception of the ineffable and makes you one with it. You have a secret self that makes you in love with being alive. A self that helps you build from eternal strands a human life that breathes wonder in the shadowy corners made of “humble” treasures. You will know yourself when you see that which is the softest thing any living thing ever is.

Be in the world only from your own light. For this you came.

The cloud bends low. Its outer edges form a whisper on the earth grazing the blades of grass that seem to be reaching up to it. Human that I am while watching this fragile moment in time, has me witnessing something that deeply stirs my soul and brings my heart to courage.

I close my eyes. I open them again. I want to believe what I have just seen. I want to believe that the cloud and the grass know one another, and knowing, care. This hope heals my loneliness, warms my cold isolation.

I knew about life before I came. I’ve been feeling quite alone and apart in a brilliantly colored prison, doomed to a world view that is meaningless—I’ve read the books and heard the sermons. They merely trapped in my soul and my imagination.

I sit on the side of the hill, a few little steps from an encounter that removes me from the ordinary of an illusion I will never believe in. I come from where my innocence is assured, my presence met with tenderness. The nature of my nature will never change. There is power even here that will never waver. Life has a loving solid heart. I know I have one too. I breathe and I recover my courage. I find my Grace in oneness.

A tear forms in my eye and I let it fall to cool the flush in my cheek. Soundlessly, the cloud, with a gesture that is not a gesture, dries my tear and brings me the Empty Calm I’ve been missing. I need no longer think, for the wonder of it all. Yet I can hear what does not need to be said. I had only forgotten.

Happily, my magic Pen has not. It always knows what to tell me about reality to share in a magic website designed to speak of these simple things.

I opened the door and the room filled with light. I stood in its warmth and sighed. Relief flooded my being and I became still.

It was a stillness that had never gone away though I had believed it had. Nothing of myself can leave me. Now I know what is thought and felt in this world. There are strange occurrences that bring grief and emptiness, all built from lies. I can only be imagining such a strange reality. I need not let this continue to concern me. I need not despair of it all happening to me as I thought it had happened.

It hadn’t.

It was now morning. And what stood before me was the empty page waiting to be filled from the depth of my stillness. Yes, the one Stillness that dreams yet soars to heights of freedom for remaining what it is. And it lives only within mornings that bring fresh, open pages to show the eternal Originality. Life is a constant morning. A constant Renewal renewing itself. A constant letting go. A constant finding.

Coming and going is what takes place. And within all that twirl of life is the constancy of the Constant Presence that delights in its constant twirling of self. This is the nature I am given. I have no other. Life and I live like this, as one, needing no explanation to confirm aliveness.

I am awake within the Dawn that empowers me.

This morning, I thought about joy. I pushed aside all else, I made a space, a quiet place, and I asked it speak to me:

Dear One, it said, you do know of me. You brought me with you, I fill your curls and fingers. And when you remember me, your curls and fingers lose their limitations and sense of separation. You no longer fit within those curls and fingers. You no longer limit your stride to ‘down the street’ in time and distance.

When you know I’m here, you wait for nothing, for time and its methods are no longer relevant or even true. You wait for nothing, for here—as you—within the unspeakable aliveness that is your vibrancy there is now certainty, a celebration, of you simply being you. You can see you have all That It Is at your fingertips, at the touch of your brush, at the sound of your voice, at the love in your heart toward another. You are everlastingly everything that is bright.

Joy. Nothing more need be added to you. Be that in your human dream and you will dream dreams that are new and fresh … and truthful. The truth is so unbelievably simple and good. They won’t believe you but don’t let that keep you from yourself. Just don’t shout it on the rooftops; tucked away in this little corner of cyber quietness, it is loud enough. Tiny, gentle mice stop by and are made glad to remember.

I remember someone saying that when you write, just wait for what bubbles up. I like that expression. I know that I possess something that will, invariably, bubble up.

However. At first it is painful to let it bubble up thinking I need to drag myself with luggage to the station from which it can take off. I usually feel I must effort to get there.

But—what if I just show up? Here I am, I can say. What have you to tell me today?

I am here, too, dear one. Uncluttered but for the raincloud of worldly ways that wobble and shake above your head distracting both of us from the tidy little path ahead, the one just there before us, waiting, as paths do so well.

You know there is no waiting in God, that has been said to you. But there is a waiting that is only the presence of Life—your own life, willing and able, supportive in stance, patient in unfoldment. It is this gentle waiting that fulfills your asking, your touch to keys, your pen to paper. You are a fertile meadow that keeps, unbetrayed, your belief in your self.

Do you remember the drawings you have made? Did you not think they were just nice little drawings, charming for being sweet but not having anything more meaningful to bring? You misjudged your drawings. You saw them as nothing. You saw them through the judgment you learned to believe in. You saw them with a sight that is the world’s and not your own. You do not think truthfully about what you create—or anything that comes out of you, for that matter. You approach creation with preconceived notions based on what you should do and been told to do by those not looking within. You make your work conform, just as you make yourself conform.

But the truth is this, your work has always told you the truth. It was never about artistic style and commercial acceptability and selling. It was always a conversation with the one you really are. You cannot escape who you are. (That idea bubbled up yesterday, too, and you posted it.) Embrace your creativity. Believe it. It is your true Being speaking. Feel its love for you and see it is your love for your self. That is the meaning in Creativity.

You love being alive and so you create. It just bubbles up … and over. It has to, for you are that ineffable joyful love.