To put my fingers on keys, is to find that my fingers love keys. Little keys work in harmony with little fingers. I expect nothing to be said, of course, nothing to reveal itself, for what would reveal itself? I am only putting fingers on keys. But you know, just that question, that tiny feeling-thought, holds magic in its folds for me. That’s because my mind is wrapped in magic and makes a big deal of the very ordinary. My mind knows how to take me to the far reaches of Forever and bring back a story that makes the morning awaken the night. Only magic from Forever makes things grow and glow with life. So, as I sit here innocently tapping, I am growing and glowing from what happens to my knowing when my fingers touch the keys. I am propelled from a small simple person to the immensity of my eternal being.

Oh, yes I am. Within this moment that is only a comma on the thread of Forever, the world opens up and I fall into a deep peace and perfection. In the comma of time I live in, lives real magic. Deep inside. Hidden but not lost. What I am capable of feeling is the ever-present Life constantly becoming more of Itself in order to never fade or fail. It is the movement of change that promises continual renewal. It is the breathless freedom of imagination. I let myself spiral and twirl and blend into the ever fresh, different, more, better, higher, wider, deeper, surer, closer, nearer, simpler, truer. I am brighter than before and open to the still to come.

This is what happens when my fingers touch the keys. My dear inner self talks to me and says things unscientifically but more than speculatively for I am breathed by the Universe and become Its own life. This is the secret power in creativity.

As a human, my once free-flowing river of awareness is producing unexpected ripples of perception causing me to constantly make adjustments to my sense of self. I feel entangled in long ribbons of thinking that crisscross my imperturbable innerness to form the sound I bring forth as a voice and the manifestation I present as a personality. I have to work at quieting these ribbons. They require discipline, they are merely a tool. They must be told they are not me. I must be the one to tell them.

Yes, I am standing on Earth, playing at being human. I study and use definitions in order for other humans to find me in the shadows of their own ribbons of thought. I make words to reveal myself. I have words made for me to discern others. I remember distinctly not having the need to do this, which may be why I comment on having to do so now. My commenting seems irrelevant to others, and this has kept me from considering how important it is for me to say this to myself. Some words cannot reach other ears or hearts. I’ve learned that doesn’t matter at all. My ears, my heart, need to be told what wonders they can know. I’m noticing that other humans too often don’t tell themselves what matters to them uniquely. They wait for someone else to do all the telling. This explains a lot. I find being human a very bittersweet affair.

The thing is, there is a Divinity in each of us—an equal portion of the Infinite Light. It must be recognized to shine. And it is meant to be whispered in the Silence of Self where the Invisible holds us in Forever. It is how I pray—I find Forever in my feeling self. There, life on Earth becomes meaningful, more sweet than bitter. It is such an exciting opportunity to let the Infinite Light shine in this material dream. The two of them create the most extraordinary means for growth and newness. I think the secret is: we came to play. So, let’s do that and not worry about the ribbons of unhappy thoughts others are creating with. Our own has all the power we need to be in a safe world and not trip over words. Our own knowing is all we need.

It is important to integrate the volume of thought to the nothingness of being.

I will see then, that the room I live in is more than I thought and greater even than that. There are very soft and quiet things to do that are the opposite of what I have been told to do, which is why life has not been comfortable. Power is not found in effort. There is unlimited power in silence. In my silent mind.

Memories are distinct, they resonate with feeling. There are memories of yesterday and more yesterdays that control my life today. But life is not memory, there is no clutter in the simple Present. Nothing can be done with memory but make me create within its margins. My memories have colored what is new and fresh with what is no more. And maybe never was as I remember. I am told to make memories. So many people say this. They become upset if you don’t agree so I find myself writing gingerly today as if staring down a taboo. How sincere are people. How attached to their minds. How reliant on their memories for a sense of self.

As I stand three paces from my memories, I will always remember what to do. I will follow the natural laws of any world I live in and remain in a safe universe. Memory is for this purpose. I want to use it for this purpose. I know each day begins as an open, unwritten book. The Book of My Life. Each page offers a brightness of possibilities. Each page is a waiting story of curiosity and surprise. My curiosity and my delightful surprise. Why bring in the past as an established and eternal reality? Even a sweet one? Today has a sufficiency untapped.

This morning as I wrote and drank my coffee, I learned that I give memories importance because other people do. And only for that reason.

There is a gentle meadow in back of my house. Its quiet demeanor is never far from my awareness as I walk through the rooms that make up my little cottage far from the clamoring world. I live on an island that it is surrounded by a thoughtful sea that brings waves and waves of constancy for me to dwell upon as I gaze over its expanse. Its movements cradle me. I am contained by kindness.

In the back room of my house there is a tiny secret door that has no need of a lock, it keeps itself open for me. It is my entrance into this world for I do not come from here. Because it is my dearest wish to visit, I do so every morning. Mornings were invented for this purpose, though it appears no one knows this. There is much talk of “mysteries” here, which is funny to me as All has been given to be known.

Until today, I have thought it best to not speak of this natural start to the day, for it is not deemed scientific. But it gives me great peace of mind to tell the truth and it makes me feel in good accord with myself when I hear myself say it. No one can prove Life’s reality to another, one can only live it in oneself. We each are sacred Beings. There is no mystery in that.

As I sit here this morning, I concern myself with every other morning I will live. I am all over the place but not here. I live this life by ordering up the kind of experience I found in old-fashioned Automats—I have to consider everything I see and claim it.

Nevertheless … nothing is more real than the nothing. I have secret tools of navigation that absorb the shadows cast by my doubting for there are stars that light my night sky making me sure-footed and able. To look to the nothing is to make the universal reality come alive within me.

Nothing is my very nature, it is me. I am the sunlight to my senses. I am the moon that moves the tides of my well-being to affirm the hopes that form my limbs for walking forward. There are deep forests in the midst of the hot boisterous world of my daily life where I find cool streams and tender flowers growing that speak of new beginnings, fresh starts that bring safe arrivals. I cannot make a mistake and be forever held in its harm.

As I sincerely write and acknowledge a nothing that is Something, the morning brings a substantial rain to fall on my forgotten inner plains and my hidden potential has burst into bloom and flourished. I am awake now.

For me did this happen. I need no one else. Just myself. But I must surely visit with myself to find it.