You follow Me, and I follow you. We are like a Push Me Pull you. We keep up with each other. We are love embracing. We are beloved of Each Other. We are Beloved.

There is no getting outside Ourselves. We are within and not without. We are Inner Being. The outer rim is illusion. Anything that is not Oneness is illusion, and illusion is the world you seem to live in, yet it only seems. What seems is not so. Trouble is not so. Trouble is a false flag that you sometimes fly under. You send out an SOS for nothing. Be still, and know I am God and know that We are One entrusted heart beating with love. We are a precious Onesome. We are not a Twosome.

One day the idea of Twosome will be laughed at the way the idea that the Earth is flat is laughed at. Anyone can look at the horizon line of the ocean and see that the world is flat. And yet you know it isn't. The rim of the Earth looks flat, and yet you dismiss what you see without a backward glance.

Do this with the world of woe. You see woe. You feel it. You believe in it. You bow down to it. Disbelieve woe the way you disbelieve the flatness of the world that you can see any day. You can accumulate all kinds of evidence for woe, and yet I persist: All that you see is an illusion.

The senses show you illusion. Illusion is fiction at its apex, and, yet, it is illusion. You can pinch yourself, and that is illusion. Your body is illusion. Molecules twirl around and present themselves as a body or a tree or a puddle. There is no marching band. Everyone comes out to look at the parade. The parade is a body of illusion. It all is. It is nothing at all, and, yet, it is something.

All of it is beautiful, and none of it exists, yet beauty exists. Love exists. It truly exists, and it cannot be packaged. That which is real has power and yet no shape. You who are love are contained in a vase called the body. Within an acorn is an empty space from which a giant oak grows. You can climb that giant oak, and yet it is illusion. Beautiful illusion, yet illusion.

Enjoy enjoyable illusion and discard the unenjoyable. Woe, sense of loss, pain seem so very real, so very hurtful, and, yet, they are not real. You know they are not. That which is lasting is real. That which cannot be documented is real. Behind illusion is real. Illusion is the backdrop. Illusion and the backdrop are not real. They look real. You can make them jump, and that is illusion as well.

Joy is real. Suffering is not. Suffering is made out of dust that doesn't exist. Suffering falls through your fingers. Illusion is a pitfall. It is a trap you step into. It is a maze. Many reflections in a maze, and they are all reflections. Everything you see is an illusion. Dust unto dust.

The Truth is Love. All of life is about love. Love may be disguised in the world of illusion. Other things than love can be believed in. Much else is believed in. Even the absence of love is believed even to the degree of killing the illusion of physical body and creating the illusion of death and the illusion of loss and other fictions.

There is One Truth, and it is love, and you and I are love, and We are naught two but One. And what a One!