How beautiful is life with Me. Think of it. You are on Earth. You are on Earth created by a God of Love. The Earth turns, and you twirl on it. You have much experience, and you make much of it. You appear to experience, yet the you of you is Being, not experiencing. You can observe your life in the way you watch a show on Broadway. You enter into the play, you laugh, you weep, and then you walk out of the theatre. You had your gig with drama or comedy, and you leave the theatre and you walk home having watched the experiences of a cast of characters.
At the theatre, you know you are watching a play. You may be touched by the play, yet you are sitting in a theatre watching what is on stage. This is what to do with what you call real life, beloveds. Watch it. Observe it. It is all theatre, and when a scene is finished, don’t develop it further. You don’t try to rewrite the script. You don’t belabor it. You don’t chase someone who is off-stage. You don’t write speeches. You simply watch and then you exit. Tomorrow there will be another play that you watch close-up, yet you can watch it as if from a distance. Even when you are the main character on stage, you can observe. It is just a play. It is an enactment. It is not fatal.
And when the play ends, and you die, even death is not fatal. Death is not real at all. It repeats itself again and again until all those you know have preceded you or followed you, and nobody you know is left.
It is as if each play is like a change of seasons. One follows the other. And actors play one part or another. And it is all the same. No matter how varied the drama, the stories are the same. All the gambits are covered. All the emotions are emoted. All the tears are shed, the questions asked, the questions answered or unanswered, and heads nod, and people walk across the stage.
You can consider the world a cradle that holds you. You can hear lullabies or people arguing. You can hear and see any manner of things. This is a world that turns, and you twirl on it, round and round, back and forth, upstairs and downstairs, opening and closing windows, washing clothes, cooking, cleaning, getting to bed or getting up. There are cycles in life, and you ride them, beloveds, and come out the other end.
Sometimes you don’t grasp what the play is about, and you struggle with that. Nevertheless, the scene ends, and another scene begins.
You are an actor, beloved. And so you watch yourself acting. You play the ingénue, and you play the villain. You play the innocent and the guilty. You play the judge, and you play the jury. Endless are the roles you play. No matter how sincere you may be, you are nevertheless an actor on stage, and you say your lines, rehearsed or not. Sometimes you trip over a rug. Sometimes you are superb in your role, and sometimes you forget your lines.
The thing to do is to forget yourself as the star of the play. Even if you are the main character, you don’t take your scenes too seriously. It is, after all, only a play, and you are a performer in the play. A play may be a great success, and yet it is only a play, and one day it is over, forgotten, and done with.
What has happened? Nothing has happened. Only a play was played by players.