Rest in My heart, beloveds. I am the womb of the world. Do you understand this? The world, which issued from Me, is cushioned within Me. The world is safe. You are safe. Despite all the worries that the world contrives and creates, despite the most pressing of world needs and anxiousness, there is nothing to be concerned about. The sun sets, and the sun also rises.
It must be that sun rose first in the east because it had to rise from somewhere, and then it set in the west so that the whole world could be contained within. Of course the sun courses within the north and south as well. And yet I tell you that no boundaries exist. All the directions are a myth.
Yet directions and vocabulary were set up in the manifest world so you would have something to talk about and ponder over. Worry grew because of hesitancy in the world. It grew because the right words could not be found. You imagined an abyss before you. You are afraid you will be thrown in the abyss. It is this vacant spot, this seeming distance, this leap, that holds you in its thrall, and its thrall goes by the names of anxiety and worry.
The story of Chicken Little is the story of you. How visionary it was! How panicked was the cry: "The sky is falling!"
This is your cry as well: "The world is coming to an end! Government is failing! Corruption everywhere!"
You are the sky, and I hear you cry out: "Help, I am falling! Put things back the way they were. I don't know where I am."
The world, as you know it, is coming to an end. This does not mean that the story is over. Not at all. It means a new chapter. The world is going to be a new chapter. What shall We call it? Peace at Last. The Return of True Happiness. The Heralding of a New Day. Love Visible. The End of Tyranny. Freedom Rises. Triumph. Hallelujah! About Time. The End of Time. The Emergence of Eternity. Infinity Reigns. Long Live Love.
Or, perhaps, We will simply call this new chapter A New Day.
What you have now, We can call jet lag, or, more accurately, consciousness lag.
Your body and the world are used to old ways. My, how you love those boundaries! Even the ones you say you don't, you are still glad they are there. They are like money in the bank for you, something to fall back on if you have to. Even so, the boundaries, including the money in the bank, do not hold you up, for they are nothing at all. Regardless of their guarantees, they are insubstantial. Rather, it is you who holds up these ideas like placards, and you convince yourself that your ideas are true.
All your quandaries are boundaries. By whatever name they go by, your ideas fuel your quandaries. Your quandaries run on fossil fuel.
You are like the little chimpanzee baby who has been taken out of his natural habitat and mechanically nurtured. He thinks the pictures on the wall are his mother, and he is attached to them. You would have a hard time convincing him that the pictures are only pictures.
The world is a picture, beloveds, and you are determined that it is the real thing. This theory is very popular. It has been bandied about since the beginning of time, and you have bought it, hook, line and sinker.