A Tribute to You
Of what sing the birds and the trees? Of what shines the sun? And what wakes you up, and what puts you to sleep?
You know there is something more than yourself that walks the Earth. There is an orchestra leader that beckons you to begin the day and close the day. There is far more than you, this person who struts, tumbles, pauses, speeds up etc. on a patch of Earth. There is more than where you place your feet at this moment. There is more than mind can see or even imagination can conjure. There is greater than mind and greater than body.
There is a whole thunderous heart and soul of you. All the angels are clapping for you at My behest. They can't help it anyway, because when angels see something beautiful and wondrous, they can only clap. Beloved, the whole Universe is clapping for you, cheering you on, inviting you into the sunshine and beckoning you forward.
The same power that elucidates music from the birds taps you on the shoulder, and your feet start dancing.
This Heavenletter is a tribute to you, even though you do not yet recognize the power that stirs within you. Even so, there is nothing you can do about it. Power is within you, and it is yours.
Orchestrated from above, you are your own orchestra leader at the same time. How can that be? You are the follower and leader at the same time?
Certainly.
There is a great wise guide within you. You hold yourself in the palm of your hand. You toss yourself up in the air, and you catch yourself. You are multi-tasked. You juggle many oranges all at once. You wear many hats.
And, yet, at the same time - at the same time (which does not exist) - you are Oneness Supreme. You don't know what's going on, and, yet, subterraneously, you know exactly what is going on, for you pulled the script from your depths, and you see that the handwriting is familiar. The script was written in your hand.
You pulled yourself out of the fire, so to speak. You started the fire, and you blew it out. You ordained yourself. Strange as it may seem, you wrote the score to the music, and you played it, and you watched it, and you couldn't believe it, and you believed too much in it.
You are the Source, and you are the evidence. You are the song and the one who sings the song and the one who hears the song and the one who dances to it.
What immense star in the galaxies are you? From what galaxy are you, if you are? Surely this rough-edged person who runs around on Earth is not you, certainly not the whole of you. You are only a visitor here on Earth, and yet you are the host, and yet you wander through a palace you believe you have never seen before.
You know nothing, and you know everything. You are nothing, and you are everything. Everything is of the utmost importance, and nothing is important. Everything changes every second, and nothing changes ever.
Your fingers play the piano on a table without keys, and still you make music. And all come to listen to your music, and I listen to your music, for I am like a player piano within you, and I love the music I make, and I love the imagined player of it, and I love and I love, and you love the same. How many ways can I say it? How many ways can I say that there is no you? There is no We. There is I, and nothing but I in all the Universe.
There never was anything but I, yet in the guise of you.
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