Change is the name of the game.
The sun, which is always, nevertheless, seems to move in place, and the light it shines seems to move with it. The leaf you look at now is inundated with the sun’s light! In a minute, the sunlight might be shining on the next leaf, or the leaf may seemingly become brighter or more shaded.
What is there in the relative world that is glued in place and not infernally moving? It is even said that a stone is whirling in atoms of space. We see for ourselves that immutable stone gets smoothed and eventually may be known as sand.
You do not stay in one place. Even when you are confined, you are not exactly now who you were a moment ago. Light moves and changes. Awareness moves and changes. You are a being that is ever-blossoming.
The blue of the sky is not the same blue it was a minute ago. The blue of the Nile may match particles of the sky, or it may not. In another language blue is called something else. The white of your eyes is not exactly white.
Your eyes that look now are not identical to your eyes that looked a few moments ago. Your thoughts are not the same ones. You may not remember what your thoughts were last, for now they are new. Sometimes your thoughts jump from one place to another and back again. Your thoughts are in love with themselves and turn every which way in the mirror of thought they inhabit.
Nothing is what it seems, unless you see love. Love is irrevocable even when it seems not. Neither time nor space truly exist so how could anything be marked in stone or a clock strike?
You are agile in life. For a moment shadows seem to run across the moon, and distance pursues you closely. There is nothing without your presence, that is, your interpretation of it. The same non-existent time moves faster than the speed of light and slower than a snail. What seems is not. And what doesn’t seem, is. How do you like that?
As for miracles, what is not a miracle? If what is is not and what does not seem is, what is not a miracle? Is it not miracle-seeming that you read My thoughts here after they were written down and not before? And yet My thoughts are streaming always like a beautiful mist in a glade. My thoughts are streaming even in a desert. There is nothing that cannot be called a mirage. Only I Who am not seen cannot be called a mirage.
I am an eternal glimpse of yourself, and yet I am not seen. I am more like osmosis, or I am an intimate part of yourself that never wavers and yet is solid in its ephemeralness. Long live the ephemeral which lasts longer than a stone that becomes sand.
A game is played and is yet unseen. There are no markers of it. Ships pass in the night and know it not. The cow jumps over the moon, and the fork runs away with the spoon, and so a tale is spun, and so it is unwoven.
Welcome to upside down and rightside-up as yet undetermined. Welcome to Topsyturvyville, and welcome to you, Peter, Mopsy and Cottontail.
What does not live forever in the annals of God? And who are you not when you are all that I AM? What fraction of infinity can you be when you are All?
Heigh ho, I hear the rumble of far-off hoofbeats, and away We go.