Oh, My beloveds, where has the time gone, you wonder. Even as I tell you there is no time, that there is only Eternity, still you wonder. And Eternity is but a moment, beloveds, and yet Eternity is not on a scale of time. It cannot be measured in minutes or hours or days or even eons. These are but made-up words.
In a sense, as you see time, it is like a broom that sweeps up everything. What has the broom of time swept up? Where does it exist, all this that the broom of time seemingly swept up? You cannot even put a finger on it. You cannot put a finger on time and what you can only imagine has been swept up in time. Nothing was really swept up, and nothing was really there to be swept up. And there is no broom in the first place.
And yet, We can say in terms of the relative world, that all of life is no more than sweeping up again and again. Regardless of the colors and texture and drama, life is rote. Sweep today, and sweep tomorrow.
And yet time is referred to as a passage, even as time has no place to go and there is no space to put it in. Even if space did exist, how would you manage to get time to fit in there? Where does this imagined passage begin and end, and where does it go to, and where did it come from? Words, only words, beloveds, yet words beloved.
And you, this sometimes jolly, sometimes cantankerous person you think you are, this illusive dot you think you are, where do you who are as much illusion as time is, where do you fit? There is no where, and there is no when. And there is no you, this perceived fragment of you. That which is truly you and which exists eternally never did not exist. You always are, always have been, even when there is no then or now or time at all. You never existed separate from Me. You always existed as I have always existed, even though the world forever attempts to measure that oft-spoken always. There is no always, and there is no never. There just is, and you and I just are.
Abracadabra! Presto! Now you see it, and now you don’t. You have been a master magician. You see something that isn’t there, and don’t see what is. What is has no here and no there.
Yet life in the world is not a trick perpetuated upon you. You entered into the inner circle of illusion. You touched illusion. You saw it and drew it, and so all the senses were made. And all the illusory bodies were made to house the illusory senses . Noses were formed, and fingers, and tongues and eyes. Ears were appended. And all, all is a vibration, and all is sensed from different angles. All is a wave formation, and all is buoyed by the waves.
Dance was born to exalt creation and thank the God who blew the world into existence, even when and where the world does not exist. Sticks were banged, and water sounded through the creek, and music was born to extol creation and the God who made the water from His breath. And the rainbow painted itself into a box of crayons, and colors were born and bred. Games were invented, and man played hopscotch.
Meanwhile, all of this imaginative creation was being swept up by an imaginary broom. Everything seems changed, yet nothing has moved. Nothing has happened. Regardless of all the events in the world, nothing has happened.
Only love has happened, and yet love didn’t happen exactly, for there never was a millisecond before love burst forth in all its glory.