Yes, We, you and I, write, and it is written. No matter who you think you are, it has always been We.

There is Being. There really is no deciding, for Oneness is. Life lives itself. Life decides itself. Writing is its Own Consciousness. Or, We can say that present writing had come to Life before it was written. It is not exactly that tales that are told have been stored. Let Us say Life and Its Tales are always available, and availed of in what is thought of as any time anywhere.

A so-called minute ago arose, as it were, eons ago. Who can say? Words arose from the mist and could have arisen at any moment of Infinity, even as Infinity has no moments.

We could say that there is nothing that has not already been written or cognized. There is nothing that has not already been thought of. There is nothing that was not present before you noticed it, yet, in the Truth of Life, there is no past or future. There is no has-been. There is no will-be. There is a Continuum of Vitality and Earthiness that is noted as Present. What is really going on is Infinity which is deeper than going on.

Infinity dissolves and revolves. What you know as Life evolves. There is Fullness. Fullness is full yet not yet finished. Or, We can say there is nothing but the Intelligence of Infinity. Infinity isn't doing anything. It isn't going anywhere. Existence is Existence Itself. Existence is not yet a wave. Existence is an Ocean Whose Tide has not yet swept itself into Waves. This is the Truth of Life.

You existed before you were born. There never was a time you were not. There also has never been time. Time doesn't march on. There is no space for time to exist. There is a Great Illusion, however. Without space and time, there is Pure Being. This is Reality. This is the Truth of You and Me.

It is also said there is Nothingness in the Midst of Everythingness. Nothingness isn't easy to talk about. Nothingness has no words to speak of.

Stories are made up. We can say that stories are born. It is pleasant to say: "Once upon a time,..." It is pleasant to say: "Once upon a time, a King was born."

It is pleasant to plant seeds that will become flowers or bear the fruit of a common realization. Many stories are told. No matter how real stories may seem, they are not real, yet you behold a picture of story before you. You can even take a photograph of perceived reality to prove it.

There is an issuance from Earth that goes far beyond its projections. 

After all, where are thoughts planted but on Earth? Soil is required, and, voila, soil is provided.

Life in the world is a common mass of thought molded into what is thought of as clay. Everyone is a clay figure. And everyone is far greater than any figure. Gold itself is not the factor.

A party is given, and all choose to come. All are swept up into illusion. The music begins. The strains of the music begin. There is sound and beauty, and there is love.

It is a haunting refrain you hear. It is a call to Life on Earth. Life seems to appear in segments. There are vibrations. You dance to you-know-not-what, and yet you dance and you sing. You make parades. You make forays into nature. You are nature-oriented. You have a nature, and it is your nature for a while, and yet you are a soul that transcends nature and the world. You are Existence Itself.

We can say you always were, yet there is no past to exist. We can say you always will be, yet there is no future for you to be in. You are. You definitely are, yet you do not exist in time. You simply exist out of time. You were never not, yet you never were. You simply are.

Meanwhile, you attribute bits and pieces of Life as openings and closures of time and space to create the mass illusion of the Most Beautiful Physical World made more beautiful by the sweetness of its temporariness. This is your Introduction to Life in the World. This is My Welcome to you.

Nevertheless, it is Myself I welcome. It is not new that We, you and I, are One.