A Poem God Wrote One Night
You may be walking on a rocky road, yet do not mistake this road for your path. You may be on rockiness now, yet there is a smooth terrain coming up. You are not the road you are walking on, or stumbling on, or hanging on to, or getting away from. You are more than all those aspects of life that you identify as you or anyone may identify as you.
If you are riding the rapids, that doesn’t mean you are the rapids. If you are taking a slow boat, that doesn’t mean you are a slow boat. You are beyond all the pieces and paces of your life as it appears on Earth. You are absolutely greater than the sum of the parts. You are Wholeness.
You may be a doer, and yet you are also a receiver. You fling your life, and you catch it. Life is communicable, and it is indefinable. You are greater than any definition. You are further than the eye can see.
You are a poem I wrote one night, and you are reading up on yourself. You may identify yourself as a tract or technical exposition, yet I wrote you as a great poem. You must read between the lines. You are also the words not written. I wrote a poem of you, and yet it was a poem of Myself that I spread out across the firmament. You are Creation. There is no digression. You come alive on the page of the poem I wrote, and you are held up for all the world to see, and, yet, the world does not always see. It is too busy.
I am the Doer, and yet I am never busy. Busy requires time to be busy in, and I am beyond time, and you, as well. We live in other dimensions even as We are dimensionless. In order to be dimensionless, there have to be borders, and We are beyond borders. We are beyond dimensions. We are beyond shapes and sizes. We are vast. We are Vastness itself.
We run on the fuel of love. What else is there to run on? We appear to be running, yet We are ever still. We are immovable motion. We are motionless. Love does not run around. Love simply blossoms. It blossoms in you.
Love supersedes the imagined boundaries. Love is the meat of life. Whatever path you may think you are on, you are on the path of love. You are on the path of yourself. You are on the trail of yourself. You are the hunter of yourself. You are tracking yourself down.
Of what beauty are you made? Why, of My beauty, of course. In My vision, and in your true vision, there is nothing that is not beautiful. There is no speculation. There is simply Being, and you are a Being of My love. You fill the interstices of My heart. You are the filler of all hearts, and you are all hearts. You are the embodiment of love. From My love you were made. There is nothing else you can be, and, yet, you do not quite believe Me. You may even fight the idea. You scramble around in life and may overlook the love you are. It is said you have forgotten. Certainly, you have disputed My recognition of you. I give no appraisal. I gave Myself to the world, and you are Myself strewn across the world, and yet you object and yet you protest, and yet, even so, you are My poem.
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