If I am everywhere, and you are everywhere with Me, there is nowhere We leave. Therefore, there is nowhere We enter. Our story is written. There are many drafts of it. Various versions are played out, edited here and there, crossed out, embellished, minimized, illustrated perhaps.

There is no conclusion in infinity. There is only inclusion.

We dance the same dance. We arrive at the same non-arrivable place that We never left.

When you begin to see as I do see — how large you become, and how small the universe. Quite different from how you have pictured yourself and your relationship to the universe. Now you encompass the universe instead of seeming to be a minor dot on it.

You become a whale instead of a minnow.

Sometimes you see that your sinews are wrapped around the universe and hold it together. You see your arms as lattitude, and your legs as longitude. You enclose the universe and yet you don't keep it bound.

Sometimes you see the universe as if sprouting from you, and you feel an expansion of your lungs. It feels as if you are breathing the universe, that it pulsates, and you are the bellows.

The earth becomes another organ of yours, and your blood pumps through it.

You throw the universe as you would a pot on a potter's wheel.

You offer a configuration of light to the skies and all that calls to you.

You are a magnet of the planets and the stars and the moon. You enter the sun and warm your hands there. You alight everywhere, and everything is pulled to you. You are the tide, and you are the moon, and you are the waters.

You begin to feel yourself as everything. You become whatever you see. Whatever you see becomes dear to you. You embrace it. You enter it. It enters you.

You become reciprocal with everything and everyone.

What you reciprocate is My love unending in its coils around the universe and beyond.

Galaxies are just around the corner. They are whistle-stops.

You are a courser through the universe. You are ceaseless.

You go nowhere, and you are everywhere.

You trip the light fantastic, and you anchor the world.

It is as if you are in flight without budging. You are like a sound that hums and then your lips open and the hum becomes song, and the note is held, and everyone and everything is in its thrall, expectant yet fulfilled, mouth and heart open, exposed but invulnerable. Of course, what could you be vulnerable to when everything is yourself?

How lovingly you embroider the universe! How lovely you paint it! Your heart surges with joy.

Where can you go? And where have you been? There is no out, and there is no in. There is just existence itself, assembling and dissolving itself in a stream of love called life.

Embark. You are already in the boat. All you do now is notice where you are passing. Know that the journeyer brings the lands to himself. The lands come to him. They are irrevocably drawn to him. They know naught else but the journeyer, for the journeyer and the lands are one.

The path you walk on is yourself. The sights you see are yourself.

What can be not well in a universe such as this.

What country exists in a countryless world? What can be counted among the countlessness of Oneness? What exists in infinity and what can not?

The name of the land you live in is love. You paddle in an ocean of love. The oars are love. You are love. You are the existence of love. Love has no parameters. You are awash in an endless sea of love, and you are beginning to know Who and What and Where you are. You have no questions. Your quest is achieved. You are pointed squarely to the center of My heart.