From My eyes to yours. From My mouth to yours. From My hands to yours. From My heart to yours. Listen, dear children, to My song, for it is yours.
My song is played so quietly. No recorder can pick it up, nor CD play it. My song hums Creation Itself, My hum an after-note that grows and grows and takes over the universe and beats its drums. The universe is taken with My song. All ears perk up for it. The roundness of My hum continues and resumes itself, note after note all issuing from the first note which has never ceased.
A guitar string has been plucked and it vibrates still.
A note has been played, and yet it doesn't stop.
You close your eyes, and you see an after-image.
You think you would like to see Me, but I am unseeable. I am attributeless, so mighty am I. All that you can see of the Unmanifest is that which is manifest. I am Unmanifest, and yet I manifest. The same is true for you. The Unmanifest is the greater portion.
You are the Unmanifest manifested, and yet you are still Unmanifest. You are a perpetual note, vibrated in Heaven, heard staccato on Earth. You are an instrument of God, and yet you are sounded as many. You are irrefutably Mine, and yet you refute it.
You have the eyes to see, and the ears to hear. But you have more than the physical senses. You have a sense of knowing, and this is how you know Me. It is not by touch, and yet you feel My touch. It is not by decibel, yet you hear My unsounded Voice. It is not by sight, yet you see My irreproachable formlessness. You taste My sweetness, yet it is not with your palate.
It is like this: You cannot see apples baking in the oven, and yet you can smell the cinnamon in sweet combination with the apples, and you know they are baking in the oven. You do not have to see them to know they are there, for they have wafted themselves to you in the vibration of sweetness.
To whom must you prove that the apples are baking? It is an idle assignment. If you took the apples out of the oven, they would no longer be baking. The manifest has its place, but it does not equal the Unmanifest. Only one thing equals the Unmanifest. Even a smidgeon of it equals the Unmanifest. The greatest hint of the Unmanifest is that which you know by the name Love.
Even a mist of love is love.
The universe is replete with love. Much of the love on Earth is hidden away. It has gone into cold storage, and yet it is rampant. It can be siphoned out. It can also be let loose like butterflies on flowers. Iron bars cannot stop it, for love can seep through even iron. Love can be muffled, but not stilled. The power of love on Earth is great. Imagine the power that is behind the power of love. Imagine love full blast. Oh, what treasure is in store for you.
Take love out of cold storage, and love will take you over. It will sear your heart, purify it, and love universal will swell until it bursts your heart, and all other hearts. Separate hearts, even in imagination, will no longer exist. Hearts will no longer have rims. Hearts will be in a common pool, as it were, and life will begin to be lived as life was meant to be lived. Join with Me in this pool of love.