What does it mean? God of your Fathers? Father God? Or Mother God? Or simply God, or God of My Self, and God of the Highest?
I am near to you as a God Sense. There are five senses. There are things that make sense. There is nonsense, and there is a God Sense, God Awareness, Love, Love of God, and God of Love. There is One God, and, therefore, I am the Same God whether you see Me as Past and Future and/or Present. You like to see time as encompassing Eternity and All That Ever Is and noted in the form of Infinity. Yet, of course, there is no form, as Infinity is formless. I have no form. Love does not have form, and I am Love.
Love can be seen this way and that. There is maternal love, fatherly love, brotherly love, the love of a child, romantic love, the love eyes communicate. At the same time as love appears, it has no form. There is an essence of love and yet no form, yet the world has form. There is clay, and there is play-dough. There is day and night. There are images and colors and, yet, Nothingness is. Amidst the mix of Nothingness, stands or sits Everything. All Possibilities are. There is plain broth, and there is thick soup, and there is stew, and there is steam wafting and there is Beauty upon Beauty. There is Sunshine and Sunlight, and the Moon is a reflection of the Sun.
Where does that take Us? Nowhere. Spectacularly it seems to take Us on a Leap of Faith, as it were, even as Faith is not needed. Faith has nothing to do with it. Faith is an interim. It is taking a step over nothing that yet is thought of as precarious. At the same time, there is no distance. There is no place. How, then, can there be distance or any kind of between and here and there and all around the May Pole or block?
In life, you take a chance, even as there is no chance to take. There are no exceptions, and there are no odds. Movement is more like a theory, and yet you move, and muscles move you, and muscles may flex, and muscles may ache, yet what are muscles really except as an idea of importance to you? The body must have muscles. Your soul does not. And, yet, even so, your soul is on a journey, but to where, and how -- what is the meaning anyway? Where does it reside? Where does it belong, and what can be made of it except a lot and perhaps too much?
A lot can be made of everything, and a lot is. Opposites occur from out of nowhere and dance a polka across the horizon. What is it that dances? Legs? Yet much more than legs. Hearts dance to their content and never finish. No lake is totally still, and, yet, only Stillness is.
Whereof do I speak, and Who is it that speaks and Who is it that hears, and what is the difference? What does difference amount to, and how does distance travel in the world, from what to what and where to where? What does alas mean? What is its context, and how is it that context shifts? How can there be little and then even less when there is only Greater, and We, the true you and I of Reality, are Greatness Itself? How are stories told when there is no story to tell and No One to tell it and No One to tell it to, and it’s all made up?
What is this Grand Adventure then, and Who perceives it and Who wraps it up and dares to say, “Now it is over,” when nothing actually begins, and nothing ever exists but Light, tremendous Light struck in your heart and everywhere, and there is nothing but Light and never was anything but Light blazing, searing, honoring, and More Light, and More shining when Light is all there is, and you are Light, nothing but Light, also known by Other Names, and No Name big enough to encompass Light, and Nothing to tell your Light apart from. Light unto Light, and Everything Else only imagined and Nothing Started and Nothing Over, except Everywhere is The Light of Love lighting up.