The physical life is like a charade. You enter into it fully, and yet it is a charade. We can consider your life on Earth as a role you play. On some level, you know it’s only a role. You know that the Truth goes far deeper. It is like your worldly life is a coat of paint on a wall of gold. Here a coat of paint, there a coat of paint. More colors than you can shake a stick at. Serene colors. Blazing colors. Pastels, neon. Yet underneath the coat of paint is gold. On top is paint that hides the true gold. When you come down to it, how else can you describe life in the world? Oh, yes, We can describe it as a story. It certainly is that too.
 
We could say that life in the world is a scene in which you pull the blinders over your eyes. You pull down a mask that is hard for you to see through. Certainly, you are not marked in stone. Changeable is your physical life, changing a mile a minute from one view, not changing fast enough from another. Life in the world certainly seems haphazard.
 
Just the same, life in the world has a motif. Your life in the world has a motif. In a way, you are like a style of furniture. There are many kinds. Or you are like a decoupage. Or you are a kaleidoscope where all the pieces, random as they may seem, fall into place and don’t stay long but convert themselves on the run.
 
How normal life in the world seems sometimes, and yet how hard it seems to figure out. Isn’t it strange, life, all of it? Your bones have joints that bend and Truth that bends and you can be out of sorts. Sometimes you really don’t know the time of day. You don’t know where you are or where you are going in the kingdom of life on Earth. Underlying the Forest of Life is a Serene Lake which inevitably carries you to Me.
 
And then there is the Joker – you never departed from Me although you think you have. You persuaded yourself you have.
 
Sweet mysteries of life. And then there is love, love greater than a pretty spring bonnet, love the whole shebang, love the Ultimate Union that you know in bits and pieces and have not yet put wholly together. This is love that has never been apart.
 
Love is the Truth, and Earth Life is the fantasy. How deep into the fantasy are you. You seemingly wouldn’t know what to do without it, for how real the fantasy is to you. Naturally it is. It is the stage you are on. It is a splendid drama, and it is yours for the asking. You don’t have to ask for it, however, because you are already in it. You hem and haw, and you cry out loud and you cry silently. All the while that you are deep into the story, you cry crocodile tears, beloveds, for woe and plaints are not true at all.
 
There is a layer within you where you know that. There is a layer within you that well knows that none of this excitement and entanglement can possibly be true. All this that is happening cannot possibly be happening, for, truly, it is a mirage of death-defying proportions that has you in its thrall. You think you would trade it all in, and, yet, you don’t trade it. You don’t let go of it. You won’t let go of it. You don’t know how to let go of it, for you are dependent upon it, as if your life is dependent upon it, as if you do not exist without it, so vivid is your imagination.