Sometimes you feel as though you are coming apart. What you are feeling is your untying of the constrictive past. The imagined bonds are loosening. You are letting go of a deluge of the past, and now you feel some empty spaces that the illusive past — which never was and is no more — seemed to batten down. Rejoice, you are coming apart from the past.

Sometimes you feel as though you are falling through space. In actuality, you are rising to yourself.

Sometimes you feel you are rattling around in the universe, uncognizant of who and where you are. Take this as a good sign, because, in reality, there is no place you can be. We, you and I, are placeless. Where do We not exist?

Sometimes you feel you are on the sidelines, but, of course, it is yourself that you are watching, so how can you be on the sidelines?

Sometimes you feel that you are in the center of the universe. This is closer to the truth, for, if there were a separate center, you could only be it for you are the whole universe wrapped into One.

You cannot fathom who and what you are, for that is trying to analyze that which is not capable of analysis. Who and what you can be is love, for there is nothing else. Love is incapable of analysis.

Sometimes you feel incapable of love. That shows how unaware you are. Love is the one thing you are capable of. You are a master of love. You are a master of love discovering that nothing but love exists. Heretofore, you danced off in a whirl of fantasy that proposed that other than but love existed in the universe.

What can the Oneness of Being be but love? Anything but love would be disintegrative. A shiny wand of unlove has tried that, has tried to take over, has tried to disband love, has tried to suppress it, disguise it, hammer it away, all to no avail because it is the fussing that leaves and it is all the love that remains, intact, extant, and whole.

There can be no damage to love, only to your awareness of it. That your awareness can be off — well, We are well aware of that. Love is infallible, but your insights and outtakes of it are not.

If it is true that there is no damage to the great existence of love, what, then, are you worried about? What is there to worry about?

You are love who has frequently mistaken the foam of the waves for the ocean itself.

The depth of the ocean knows no disturbance. And only on the surface can you. There is the illusory surface of the ocean, and there is the illusory surface of you.

Delve into the ocean, and you will find yourself there. You will swim in love and be incapable of telling yourself apart from it. Your identity is not this fragment you thought it was. Your identity is the whole immersible ocean that is yourself and that you are also immersed in, playing in it as if the ocean were something else, as if it were dry land, a faded shore, or a mere glimmer of itself.

You have underestimated life and what you are engaged in. Life is the High Seas you sail on, even while nothing but the Ocean exists, nothing but depth, nothing but wholeness, nothing but Allness, nothing but you and I, One Ocean of Love, replete in Itself.