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.

As I walk through the density of human thought, I shut out my subtle mind and disconnect myself from my knowing. Human thinking is mental interference upon my mind’s natural spaciousness. The reverberations are so insistent that I am unable to see past them. They leave a mark that seems indelible.

I am altered. I must find a way out of this strange infusion of misperception to regain my rightful mind. I have stood in shadows praying for clarity while giving the outer world my attention. I am bound by conflict.

And so it is today that I push the world aside and go to my intangible self, the part of me not caught in human understanding. I become still and let this writing reveal my Heart which is my place of peace. In my Heart, a gentle wellspring shimmers with the substance of my innermost dreams and desires. In my Heart, I find the wholeness of my nature. In my Heart, I am energized from emotions that build worlds. New and better worlds. Unexpected worlds. Happy worlds.

In my Heart, I am a confident child enrobed in a reverent Light.

I am not alone in this Light, it surrounds me for it is all that is. I grow from this Light. From it I receive all knowledge. I call this Light my Soul. But that is just a word. The thing I am made of cannot be contained or named for it is infinite.

As I write, something moves within me. My Heart is lifting my now innocent gaze to the outer reaches of Time, far beyond the conditional, far beyond the need to think, and far into the country of my Soul. Creation is made of illuminated feelings. I feel. I feel my self, my life, my worth, my love, my freedom. I feel, and all is understood. It is easier to feel than to think. Thinking weighs me down. How odd to value it so much. I see plainly now that my human life is a small room heavily furnished by the beliefs I embody. Of itself, there exists no room. There is only thought and the receptive canvas that reflects it. I’ve thought myself into confusion.

Though I pine for the wordless world, I gratefully use human words. There are words that ring true. These words now enable this narrative portraying my ethereal Being. With these words I leave a unique impression upon the Earth of my passage through Time. From them I gather cherished mementos I will keep until Forever. My Soul is of the Celestial Kingdom but my pulse is of Earth. A strange, subtle, bucolic alchemy takes place between these two aspects of being. I must not resist nor deny either one if I am to bring meaning to being human for a time. I am not here by accident.

When I can stand quietly aware of the Heart at the center of my  being, a world of people becomes peaceful. My Soul’s heart must be acknowledged. It is the truth of me and it brings me the Courage of an artist and the Pluck of a poet to tell of it.

For this you came, says my Soul. A hiddenness wants to be known. The human life is a gift of great value and I know yours, says my Soul.

God bless my Soul, say I. ◌

I am a Soul. I am much more than the word of it. I will draw now its essence. This essence is my nature, and from it I understand everything that I am.

I am like a Tree. It is why I love Trees, we are of a kind, the same and other. In my deepest self I am a flowing river of light rooted in unchangingness. From there I am reaching up—high, wide, expansively. I am always reaching. I am reaching to release a dream. I am a dreamer, I possess the attribute of creativity. Dreams are my medium. I dream of wonders and delights; my heart is so pure that it imbues my mind with the  perception of the infinite goodness that is All That Is. I am of the All That Is. I am good.

And I am whole. I trust the knowing in my mind. My Great Heart is my anchor in the eternal. It is the immortal of me. I am a sacred self made of Love. Even when I dream and don’t know it. Sometimes I dream of becoming human. Just for a little while and just because. When a human, I bring sorrow to joy. Darkness to light. Forgetting to knowing. Nevertheless, laughter is instilled in me to fool the doubt and keep me sane. Laughter is not needed very much in Heaven for there is no doubt or loss of self there. All I do when I am human is try to balance all the contradictoriness around me and keep my center from falling of a cliff. When I get it right, I am at ease with the contrariness and bring order and beauty to my world in spite of all the world around me.  I learn many things about myself and my powers when I am human, none of them easily wrought but all meaningful.

Eventually I leave the dream of being human. I wake from a slumber that felt so real, so immediate, so urgent. And I laugh, amazed I thought what I thought there. I stand still for a moment and shake myself awake, glad to be back in timelessness, joyful to regain my allness and the power I thought I’d lost. I encounter the loving souls I’d shared that dream with and we embrace with pleasure, reunited in what cannot take us apart any longer—until the next dream of limitation, of course. We’ll keep going there, dreaming another dream, planning another scheme, forgetting in order to regain the relief of remembering. We’ll keep going there, for with each dream we bring to that illusion a greater measure of Heaven, until possibly, that dream world can become a place of real magic within a material semblance. It is our canvas, we are its artists. Already we have brought it much beauty, music and brightness. Being infinite, we have more to bring. Much much more.