Deep in the Invisible, is a single pure Flame that burns brightly in a timeless Hearth. The Room It warms is filled with friends and patience and the many colors of kindness. When I quietly think of that Warmth and imagine standing in that Room, I am assured of all I already possess. In me is the ever present Life-givingness.  It is what I am and what I need not seek.

In this dream world where my lesser nature rails and sobs, there is a higher ground of Being waiting for my awareness. Yes, only, awareness. Then, I see a Presence illuminating my understanding in ways so unthinkable to my human mind.

Ironically, unhappiness is often what I use to remind myself to look for this inner wisdom.  Of course, simply stopping to consider who and what I am in each quiet moment, would be an easier way to find it.  Unhappiness is such a silly old habit … and most unreliable.

I found a small precious stone in my pocket today. I don’t know how long it had lived there in the darkness of my obliviousness. Had it been there always? Had it been waiting patiently, or impatiently, for me? Who can say? How can I know? I live in a world that doesn’t ask these kinds of questions or believe in unexpected treasures in one’s pocket. Yet they are hopeful sorts of questions, aren’t they, in a world like this one?

Given my druthers, I’d go through the day pondering things like this and nothing else. I believe Life is made of treasures appearing to be of small significance. I am the one who searches the back of the bookshelf where the tiny pamphlet by an unknown author disappeared through the crevice of important books–the one dusty and dog-eared in which a nameless reader found Something.

I presently (still, though my world is changing) live in a world of books. They line my walls and to enter the room where they live brings me so much inner satisfaction. I feel cozy and warm. And yet, and yet, they contain nothing I can ever really need. It is agreed, where I live, that books are the repository of great ideas and it is important, they tell me, to collect these great ideas as if they were going to go away someday.

The world I live in is full of books in many ever-changing forms. Full of ideas put down somewhere after having been thought by somebody. I’ve been told how important it is for me to know these ideas, to hear them, to read them … to STUDY them. “They will make me more than I am.” I did wonder about all this kind of thinking when I first started on this human journey and then I realized this was not to be questioned so I gave up and simply evaded the issue, even with myself, and got on with things. I read and I studied. And I studied and I read.

Sigh. How lonely and unfulfilling it is, merely attaining externals. It leaves me feeling empty somehow.

When I was Home in Heaven (no, not that heaven, the Real one), I loved my Empty room. It was a pocket of calm and creativity in All That Is, for Emptiness is not a vacuum, there being all sorts of Goodness lurking within the Within of Everything, and always found to overflowing in the Empty rooms that inhabit Forever.

I am not at present living in an Empty room, and this is a problem. I find myself in lots of confining clutter as I spend Time with the self that does not clearly see her Home in Heaven. In Empty rooms there is so very much space. So much room to imagine. Imagine what can be imagined in an Empty room, this quiet place for holding forth the celebration of Life. Imagine what can be created!  I just loved that Empty room of mine and I loved what it did to my thought. In it I heard my Heart and my Heart showed me ALL the delights in being alive. Oh, it was so nice.

Since I’ve been away from there, I’ve been trying to bring the Memory of all that to my clutter, and even some of that wondrous Emptiness to my Heart. But it’s tricky, because I am so easily distracted by appearances since I’ve been fooled into thinking I am not at Home in Heaven. Still, I am persisting. I know you are too.