Just as there is a season for everything under the sun of Heaven, there is also a reason. There is reason beyond your understanding. Reason must be beyond your understanding, or, as it is, there would be little meaning. The truth of it is that there is great meaning to your life. That you often miss the meaning is incontrovertible.

Accept that there is meaning even when you can't guess what it might be. Meaning is not to be struggled with any more than anything else.

Even if you knew the meaning of a beautiful sunrise, what does your understanding of meaning have to do with it? Even if you knew the meaning of a beautiful leaf, what does meaning add to the beauty? What words can describe the meaning of love, for instance? Only love can describe love, and it does it without words.

Word meanings fall short. Words are only a representation. They hardly represent what they really mean to describe. Even great words for great things do not begin to express their greatness. Definitions would imprison what is beyond imprisonment. Even the word God is a small representation. What word can possibly express the Vastness of the Created and Uncreated?

What words can begin to describe you?

Words can only be an approximation. The best words can only do little.

There are no words to express the thump in My heart that beats for you. No words anywhere to impel a proper vision of yourself.

Words themselves are physical things. Perhaps it is the space between words that expresses more than the words themselves. Perhaps the words are simply markers for what is beyond words.

Poetry bespeaks more than the words say, the same way as notes in music, the same way strokes of a paintbrush in art do express more. We are talking about wholeness. No words can describe it, but words and other art forms can evoke it. Even finite words evoke greater than the inkblot of themselves.

Your great consciousness does not fit into words, yet your great intelligence enlivens the words, makes them dance, makes them sing, makes them take flight. Without you on Earth, what would anything be? Without you, everything would be some kind of interruption. With you, Earthen smooth-sailing can exist.

You are more than an interpreter. You are a pilot of words. You make them fly off the page and reach into Heaven. You make them create a golden pear tree so tall it reaches to Heaven, and you are capable of plucking the uppermost golden pear. I offer it to you.

Now you understand that words can take you only so far. This is good news, is it not, that there is more than words can say?

Yet words are not random ink spills. And yet, your consciousness makes of them what you will. Perhaps all of life is like an inkblot test. All of life is what you make of it. You ascribe to life. You subscribe to it. What do you ascribe? To what do you subscribe? You can note but not describe. Even with two hands, you cannot. But you can pull down the vastness from Heaven with your heart and soul. You can pull it down like a glorious veil through which you somehow see more. You will see more. You will see everything through this veil. You will see.