Words exist, and yet the meanings of many words carry a concept that does not exist except as it is said and mutually agreed upon. From Me to you carries a concept, yet there is no to and there is no from. When all in the extant world exists simultaneously, when there is no distance, when there is no space, how can there be a to or a fro? From what to what? From sea to shining sea you say, even though there is only One Sea of Love in all the Universe.

And yet images exist. It is fun to move from one word to another, and yet, all, all is metaphor.

Words are metaphors. One apparition is said to be like another, and another, and the moon is round like a ball.

Language was born from an utterance. A finger pointed, and a sound came from the throat, and words were sung from imagined sea to sea.

All the while, you are My utterance. A sound came from My throat, as it were, a breath from My breath, and you walk the Earth, or you sit down on the ball of Earth which is as round as the moon.

You took a step, and you became aware of your existence on Earth which is actually a semblance of existence.

It is as if I inhaled you, yes. Yet, I never exhaled you, for you are contained within Me still. You have never left the heart of God. You are an impulse within Me still. Hear the beat of My heart, and you will know this. You are My born yet unborn. You are My firstborn, and yet there is no second. There is no last. There is you, beloved, still on the tip of My tongue, on the verge of being sounded. You are a bell about to ring, and yet the bell has never been sounded except in some agreed-upon imaginary way.

It must be that you, who are the pulse of My heart, are immersed in My heart. It is like you soak eternally in My heart, and yet you are as fresh as the day you were born. You are My newborn not yet born, yet you travel through imagined space in an imagined capsule of time. You feel hurtled through space. You are in some sense aware that you have never landed, and yet this is a fear of yours that you, as you know yourself, do not really exist, as if your existence depended upon an outward manifestation of you. You are the Unmanifest, beloveds. There is an outline of yourself that you like to believe is true when there is nothing further from the Truth.

Inasmuch as you are eternal, the temporary body you wear is no more true than a piece of clothing you toss on. The body is only material, and yet it is immaterial, for you exist beyond space and time even as you believe yourself to be a time traveler who races in space. You ring a doorbell that doesn't exist, and yet you hear the bell ring. Yet it is you who are the Truth, and nothing but the Truth, so help Me, God.

You string yourself along. You follow bread crumbs that you threw ahead of yourself. You see the bread crumbs, and you say, "Aha." You follow a path as if on a game board, and you think you pass Go, even though you march in place, a toy soldier, all dressed up and no place to go.

Be resigned to stay in My heart. There is nowhere else.