Today let us sit in the silence of love. Let Us be in Our love. Let Us watch it befall Us. It's here. Let it fall on Us like mist today.
Our love comes in shapes. Sometimes it's a swirl. Sometimes it's like drops of rain. Sometimes it's an enormous bower that covers Us. Sometimes it is like a little square piece of paper floating from the sky. Sometimes it's like water that We are awash in. Sometimes it's sparkles of light. Even a cranny of love is as big as the whole world and yet love is sizeless.
And love comes in many colors too. Sometimes bright yellow. Sometimes a rosy hue. Sometimes it's clear sky blue. And sometimes it's white like carnations. Or green like leaping blades of grass.
Like all grand things, love is not limited to any shape nor color nor size nor description. There is no image of it. It is not definable at all. The best We can say about love is that We love it. I suppose We can say we have it and give it, but what is it that We have and We give? Who can say exactly.
What is love but a sense, like the five, yet the love We speak of is beyond them all. It cannot be measured. It can't be weighed. It can't be drawn nor heard — only known.
And yet love is not elusive.
It is a capturer, and it is cageless. It frees Us. We hold it, but We can't hold on to it. We are in its thrall and yet We are unbounded, as unbounded as love itself. For love does not bind. There are no ties to love, although We are tied to it. We ride on love, and yet it is riderless.
That which is love has no time. It has no moments. That which starts and stops is not love. It may have been an image of it, an attempt at it, but that which is love is not timed. It is not dependent upon one thing or another. It doesn't grow cold nor does it age, and it is more than a flame no matter how brightly it shines.
We cannot pump it up. Nor can We deflate it.
It always exists, not just sometimes. It is never more nor less. It is always present and cannot be absent.
It needs no entourage nor clarions to announce it. We cannot escape it, though sometimes it escapes Our notice.
What more can be said about love that has not already been said, this love that defies description. And yet which you know so well.
And how do you communicate it? It communicates itself. Love dances with itself. It exists independent of you. You are not the maker of it, nor the wielder of it. Love is not something you do. You are the watcher of it, the listener to it, the evoker of it, the noticer of it. You are it.
You are love in all its shapes and forms and shapelessness.
How is it then that you can think you are without love, that you are loveless and unloving and unlovable and limited and awful and all the adjectives you apply to yourself and to others? How is it that you can think of yourself as all that love is not, when you are the natural and neutral beholder and dispenser of it? How mixed up can you be when you do not accept that you are the essence of love itself?
Face it. You are nothing but love. Your truth is love. You are not all the other things you have thought you were. They are not you. They are but shadows of you who are shadowless.
Be in your truth of love today. That is all you can truly be. So be it. Be My love in the world today, that which you are.