I spent some time putting my files in order before I set to writing. I write faithfully every day to quiet my senses and draw reality from the hearth of my eternal home. I usually am hesitant to start writing. It is hard to leave one mental space for another. It calls for ungluing from a world that has a strangle hold on me to one where I am totally free. The disparity is great, and I resist making the shift to a different kind of perception. I know it will be hard to come back to Earth.

I have only words now to make the ineffable real, to tell myself about my true nature—I knew myself before I became a human. Perhaps, for this reason, are my words magical words. I receive them as if they were sacred promises held in secret, waiting to be found, because something sacred waits to be found. But I don’t know what will be said by the little keys standing patiently for my touch. We will be surprised. In becoming a person I closed myself off from the Waterfall that erupts from my slightest asking into a sparkling torrent of inspiration.

I am still thinking about those files and so my attention is split. I often seek distractions to dispel my chronic feelings of dépaysement—a French word for the feeling of disorientation that occurs when you find yourself in a country that is not your home (the whole feeling-tone of my life on Earth). Just seeing an outer world has been too much for me. From the day of my birth I felt the outer impressions draw me away from my center of being. Much of the time my two worlds collide rather than meet to harmonize into fresh climes of experience. My once single mind has become an unruly country, and I am too often ruled by its clutter.

Surprisingly, I find peace and order in gazing at my coffee cup. The blue one I like so much. I realize it is because it is straight-sided and plain and sits so convincingly on the desk. It looks sure of itself. I’ve never understood complicated things. I started life very simple. When I was what the world calls a child, I believed in happiness. It took only going to my innermost self to show me a world standing upright. It was all within me, so real I didn’t have to imagine it. That need came later, when I saw another world outside myself. Like laughter for balance, imagination was invented to help humans create from their separateness.

I stayed a long time with my tiny feet on planet Earth while I remained open to the silent potential within me. Knowing that all I needed as a human being came from within me I never searched for anything in the world. I let each gift of life come, confident it would. It always did. And as I remained at-one with my subtle nature, the outer world kept on its course. My room was always my room in the seasons that came and went under a sun that allowed each evolving morning to turn a child into a woman who now had to imagine her real self.

…. ah, the coffee needs replenishing!

The need for hot coffee brings me out of my reverie. It was from love of others that I let myself look away from my innerness. A world of “other people” now held my attention. Today’s writing stirred the still waters to become a waterfall and brought me my simple self. For a moment. But I’ll keep writing.

Forever is here. Confident coffee cups show it. And little backlit keys rejoice when they tell of it. It’s that kind of reality.

I am, she said. She said it softly, as if it were a secret. A truth to be kept secret because it was such a sacred thing. She knew empowerment in the depth of her being when she said these words. They grounded her. Strengthened her. Two little words.

Only two words and something was born. Something so vast, deep, far-reaching, close, that she could no longer exclude herself from herself.

I am, she said, and her world changed because the changeless had been called upon.

This morning feels different somehow. As the coffee brews I wonder what will be written today. Is someone going to speak? I seem particularly focused on the waiting keys. When I tap them gently, as I like to do, I feel I am connecting to someone I am always learning something new about: my self. There is always something interesting. Not always happy.

I find magic in writing. Letters assemble and something is revealed. I meet myself in this new thing—someone living breathing me is now present. She is the one I am making this most perplexing journey with. She is feeling, without her I don’t know who I am. When I write, she is no longer lost in the crowd of people I see each day around me. In the world, I look for her in that crowd of people but she disappears within them. It is when I write that the people disappear and she becomes real. Just me and the keys. Just us. No one else. Nothing else. A quiet world that can expand into infinity and bring me relief.

I possess keys that unlock the room of my imagination. I become whole again. I am not only what can be seen.

I don’t seem to have anything of import to say this morning. I just want to connect with myself in a quiet way. Why do I always question what I want to do, ask if I am allowed to do it? That isn’t helping things. It is very pleasant when I just talk to myself quietly.

I love the way Nora Ephron can cook. I would love to cook with that kind of ease. I make things difficult for myself. I always feel there is something complicated and involved in doing human things. Do I have to believe that it is so? What is the simple way to think about doing something, anything?

Just do. Just see the thing for itself not as this thing that will make my life significant. Even though I feel invisible I don’t need to do anything to be significant. I am. I am enough for myself with no thought for how it plays to someone else. I matter more than anyone (outrageous thought). They matter more to themselves. To come home to myself and observe my desires and enjoyments—my own happiness makes life sweeter for me.

What I judge is only what I’ve concluded, not what may have actually happened. I will conclude what is in favor of my peace of mind. I will be here one tiny a bit of moment after one tiny bit of moment. All quite manageable. I’ll do that today. Oh, I wish I didn’t have to be good.

It is to grow myself that I became a human. The Earth welcomes my Soul and watches with interest as I look for strands of freedom within impediments.

This Earth expects my heart-based nature to join with the many Kingdoms within its sphere—we all share the Grace of Being. But it is only among the humans that the cloud of unknowing is hiding the origin of self. What humans don’t know about reality came as a surprise to me when I entered this world. Free will has not served this group well.

I yield to the higher part of me. I unlock myself from false belief. Divine indifference to a world in denial shows me what is true. It shows me the Infinite Light where lives my inner being. My inner being is the one I rely on in this world. My self is my connection to Everything.

I am imagination.

I am the Artist who brushes the sky in colors born with the moment. I am loved and loving. Adored and adoring. I am Happiness’ Child. No untrue world has harmed me. Being spirit, I am impermeable.