Holy are you, born in My image. My image is Truth. It is not an advertising image. Holy are you, born in My likeness. Holy are you, born as the morning dew, close to the grass and yet as high as Heaven. Let no grass grow under your feet, beloveds. Born of My Holiness, you are not ersatz. You are the Truth of Myself, yet long drawn out, circuitous. You are the dawn of Myself forgotten in a gorgeous stream made circuitous in its reliance on the physical world.

Could the expression physical world even be said if there were not another kind of world or perhaps more than one? You already know that. And so I say the Real World, and I mean what I say. You do not always mean what you say. You do not always know what you are saying.

Speaking of many worlds, there is your remembered world of yesterday that no two siblings remember exactly the same. And there is the roustabout world that you address much of the time. It is so that everyone lives in his own world, and yet, and yet, there is One World, and yet, and yet, there is Heaven, a solid world of hardly-dared dreamed of, the world that is the One and Only World, the World of Love, and Love Unending, forever discovering and rediscovering itself as Mark Twain discovered the Mississippi every time he rounded a curve and pulled the bell of his steamer.

It doesn’t matter what stream you went down in the seeming yesterday or the path you took or think you took the day before, even though there are not really days, even though there is really only Infinite Eternity or Eternal Infinity, even though there is only Being, you follow a line that you call the past. Even though you only imagine it, track it, get caught up in it, there is no line to follow, and yet you follow it. Even so, today, in this so-called day, you can rise to your Higher Self, your Self caught up in nothing yet delighting in what only seems to occur. You are on a non-ending trail, beloveds. All trails lead to Me. All trails lead to Heaven.

You can only perceive that you are far from Heaven. You can only surmise it. You can only pretend it. You are the pretender to life in the world, this winding stream that you seem to float on as a raft dependent upon the winds of today. You abdicated the throne that is yours to sit on.

When you fall from your horse, you get back on and ride again.

When you imagine you fall from Heaven, when you imagine that you are only a human being, a struggling human being, when you imagine you forget your Source, when you imagine that you are only your individual imagined struggling self, when you buy into that – and, oh, how well, you have bought into that – don’t you think that you are capable of reinstating yourself on the throne that I so gladly and reasonably share with you?

What if you could imagine a state of existence without the physical world that you call Earth and instead recollect Heaven, Father or Mother Heaven, and reunite consciously with your True Self Who has never been absent but ever present? What if you let go of all the literal world that you have enchanted yourself with? What if you let go and broke the spell of attachment to that which is only imagined surface and, instead, let go of it and restore yourself to the Heaven you have never once stepped a foot outside of?

When you wake up from a sleeping dream, you naturally recollect that you are awake in your own bed and that you had a dream. Can you not wake up from the waking dream you inhabit now? Can you not wake up and know that you were only dreaming and re-dreaming that which never really transpired except in an imagined sleeping state?