On Earth, you ask yourself questions. How weird-seeming this is. Some answers you seem to know. Other answers are impenetrable.
Where do you find your questions anyway, and where do your answers come from in the interim when there is time to speak of?
What is Reality anyway? Whither goest thou, or, do you think you go anywhere at all in this conundrum called Life on Earth? Where is anywhere anyway? Where are you led?
If space and time do not exist, what is going on?
From where arise the thoughts? -- What are you asking anyway, and what do you expect to get out of this discourse with yourself? A runaround? When you get an answer, what does it mean and to whom does it mean anything anyway?
If there is no space, how do you settle down or wise up? How do you get anywhere?
What is the purpose of questioning? Who proposes questions, and who answers them? What does it mean when someone mentions the tail of a comet?
How does anything mean what you suppose it does?
And, yet, you love to propose questions and take a stab at the answers.
You are unable to define Life, yet you and everyone talk about it.
Go Higher. Gossip is too small for you. Gossip is filling your backpack with nothing.
Sometimes you advise yourself to carry no baggage. You would like to be someone who rolls up all his worldly possessions in a blanket in a matter of five minutes or two or three. How simple your Life would be without an abundance of questions you pull along in an imaginary wagon.
If you knew how, you would leave all the past behind you. A new day would be a new day. There would be no old days, only new days, and you would be new. Hurray! There would be no piles to sort through.
Out of sight would be out of mind.
You might like to be abstract rather than concrete. There would be no weight to carry, no contours or hurdles to jump over or anything to dispense with.
Reduced to your simplest, you would be expanded. All holds would be barred. There would really be no records kept, no toting bills, no rehashing old times or anything. There would be no record-keeping. What are records kept for? There would hardly be anything to keep, and, when all is said and done, who would insist on keeping whatever?
It is said that I keep records in Heaven and look up anything I want. Why would I keep records? You are a Beautiful Soul who wanders around and finds yourself wanting. I see no lack. I see abundance. Abundance is My Clarion Cry.
Carry no past debts over. Move on. Be done and finished and ready for new.
Let each day be a new day. The Sun rises every day. You are not intended to stay in the past and cogitate it. You don’t have to make anything out of the past.
Make today a new burst of bloom.
Composting isn’t the same as keeping, now, is it? Composting is throwing to the winds. Composting isn’t collecting or recollecting. It is not saving. It is using. Certainly, if time, in Truth, did exist, composting makes good use of time.
Time is no time at all in this movie reel you live in around the non-existent block. You don’t have to be a creature of habit. The same old does not exist. You are, right now, a flip of the switch. You are a yearning for something, and you will find that Love abounds.
You will find the treasure at the top of the mountain. It is yours to find without any further ado. Your Odyssey is from here to here. You are on a Walk-about.