A common thread runs through your life, and the thread is I. It is as if you ride the train of God. There is no getting off. God is here to stay. And I stay with you. You might say I am never far from you. It is more accurate to say that I am ever close to you, you who are so intimate with Me, so intimate, beloveds, that you are My very Self. How tenderly entwined are We.

You do not take a step without Me. Of course, you think you have. Sometimes you have thought that We are at opposite ends of the Earth, and yet, all the while, We move as One. We move as One, for We are One. We are One undeniable yet denied Oneness.

It is not possible for you to fall by the wayside. There is no wayside, for you cannot be out of the circle of My Heart of Love. You are stamped in My heart, and I am stamped in yours. We, beloveds, the One of Us, are the real goods. I am Love, and you are Love, and never shall the One part.

And yet, how far off the mark, in terms of thought, you have been. You are a master of fantasy. You are also a master of understatement. Even as you exaggerate, you understate. Even though all of your life has been a wild exaggeration, you never said enough. You drew pictures of your life, and yet even those pictures you covered with your hand. You thought you were doodling through life when, all along, you were an artist supreme. You were such an artist that you were sure the drawings you made were the real thing. You sketched in the air. You drew some lines, and you drew some curves. You interfaced with others' drawings. You scrambled here and there, on good soil and poor soil, and you forgot that you were already grown. You forget in Whose Image you were. You were your own imaginer. Your imagination was great, yet you couldn't even conceive of My image and what it might mean to be in My image.

You still can hardly conceive that you are a reflection of Me, that you are My light bouncing off a cave wall, or a house built of mortar and bricks, or thatched straw, or under a tree, in the city or in the wilderness. No matter where your body dwelt, you felt you existed in a wilderness. Beloveds, you existed in a wilderness of your thoughts. Your thoughts alone framed a picture of yourself. You are made in My image, and yet your picture of yourself has not been made in My image.

Whether you are a cubist or a landscape artist, no matter what your style, your drawing of life has missed the mark. Your drawing has fallen short. You and I have not fallen short. You and I have not fallen at all. Despite the utter wildness of your imagination, you have not recognized the Image of Me within you. You, who cannot go an inch away from Me, have imagined distance. You have believed in space and time far more than you have believed in Me. You want evidence of that which your very Self is evidence of.

You live in a miracle, and you call it humdrum, or you call it a wild ride. And yet you escape from Truth, and you call your picture reality. Your picture is hardly a semblance of Truth. It is surreal. Deep in your heart, you know that. Deep in your heart, you know, and yet you cover up the depth of your heart with other things that are easier for you to accept -- all the other things that are far away from My thoughts of you.