To begin anew was what she wanted. She began with one gesture outward, but the real movement had taken place an instant before in her heart. She had been listening to her heart. It was always saying something. It was speaking in her. That was how she knew she was alive and cared for.

She knew all kinds of things as she let herself receive the murmurs that kept flowing from somewhere within her. They were small murmurs, gently felt, not very noticeable. What she noticed most was her desire to hear them. She knew there was something to hear, something to be listening to. She had gotten into the habit of listening outwardly and this had created confusion in her. So now, today, this minute, as she sat down to write she said, I will listen. I will let it come to me this awareness of the thing I am. I need to know who I am for I am not the world.

It was surprising to her to find that there were words at the ready. She felt a slight pain in her wrist and hand as she began, but she knew that many things existed to distract her from the words that come from the Wordlessness that was waiting to tell her all she longed to know. To hear herself was all that mattered at any time, today was as good a time as any other except that it was in fact the best time, being the only one imbued with power.

The now of reality was this tiny moment squeezed in between the noises from a dream that took itself very seriously. Oh yes, she had succumbed to the noise. Falling flat on her face out there was the greatest gift to be given. She knew she had simply stumbled out of her peace. But peace was here. She could feel it. It knew all about her as only It could. How well It knew her. How well It upheld her. How well It conceived of a life for her. Her desire to let out all that It knew of her was the pressure she was constantly feeling. Such great pressure that felt like illness, but it was not. It was health wanting freedom from being cooped up in ignorance and fear.

Don’t think, write. Write to receive what is waiting to be known from the inner room where all things have their beginning.

Don’t think, know. It is in unfurling the sail of the Self, that the wind of Knowing moves the human life to find its wisdom.

Don’t think, trust. Why impose on things that are meant to come spontaneously? There is that which can only become apparent in the moment that is freely open, unplanned, unconcerned about.

Don’t think, have. It is already here. It has been given before Time began. All is present in the present. No searching. No waiting. Given. Known. Done. A new expression enhanced from a truth living in silence waiting to be heard.

Don’t wish, be.

Before I came to Time I spoke a gentle self-accepting language. As a human I still know this language, it lifts me out of conformity thanks to life’s most significant gift to me: I’ve been created unique. My uniqueness is the presence of my eternal self in this world. Enrobed as a human it walks the Earth sowing its bountiful nature for my delight and the delight of the Infinite one I manifest. I card my human life from the lyrical strands of reality’s silence.

This is different than anything thought here. Unhappiness comes from believing I am only the struggling human disconnected from all lasting meaning. By contemplating the mystery in my nature I encounter the Self that lives from Grace. I came into this world with the assurance that nothing other than happiness creates my well-being … but then I learned human thought and found sadness. 

This sadness is based on illusion. The trees outside my window may be really made of vibrating energy but they are not an illusion, believing I am incomplete and unworthy is the illusion. The solution is to make my mind quiet and listen to what is really going on beyond the world of acquired words. I exist to be life’s poet by simply expressing my true and humble self. The most wonderful things come from quiet plainness. Having been human a while I have to learn to be this plainness again. It is to the part of me I call a Soul that I turn to to live in the real of me. Bringing this depth to the human life I am living makes it a magical experience. I have confirmed this for myself. 

Everyone’s reason for being is to be Life’s Poet. It is the sole expression possible in a benevolent and whole Universe. ◌

“It is told to me that I came once to my mother with these words: ‘Mama, I have drawed a man’s body, shall I draw his soul now?’” ― Robert Louis Stevenson

In the living garden within me there grows a Tree with branches flowing with Knowledge. A profound wisdom moves in the limbs of my body/mind. All the difference is made to my day when I know this wisdom is mine to use.

My being is the nurtured expression of a Grace-filled Mind. I am the beloved human of the silent One who moves me through this dream of time as I remain in the timeless gentleness that is the ever-present moment.

With soft attention to that of me I never see, hear, touch, taste or smell but know, I become eternal once more.

Divine Promises blossomed in my garden on the day of my greatest optimism. Now a brightness shines in the crevices of the petals and leaves and the whole World glows from within itself.

I had strained to hear the Nothing in the silence of the falling snow. I had pleaded for the warmth of Feeling from the desert wind at noon. Only when I let go and simply trusted, did I see within the Within as I sat by the pool that held the reflection of all who walk by, revealing hidden treasures no one knew they possessed.

Imagine that! A pool of water so wise, so deep-seeing, showing what is hidden from human view. It takes a very simple faith to imagine this kind of thing. I am humbled with gratitude that I find myself near this profound pool of water and that I have such a faith. To think of what really lives in my very own garden, the place I walk through each day; the place where a sweet earth makes me and my flowers grow so strong and tall.

I am not alone on this Picture-show Planet created out of eternal inner truths. It is a grand scheme that erupts each morning as I open my eyes from my little bed. Somehow, seemingly out there, a symphony shakes itself awake and begins to sing to me. And then, and then, with a pronouncement I can barely allow myself to believe, it tells me that the Music I hear … is my own.

Truly, I must be a very wonderful thing.