When is a mistake a mistake, and when is it a blessing? When is a victory a loss?

Anything that is seen as a victory over another is a loss, for it is ego that overtakes an apparent another.

Think not of victory nor defeat for they are both illusions.

Competing in life is a no-win game. Formal races, of course, are an obvious sport. They are life set aside, as it were, for a moment.

But in life, whether in competition with others or with a standard you have set for yourself, there is nothing to win. There is no King of the Mountain of Life.

For what reason must someone rush somewhere to be first? What is the gain?

When you know where you stand in My eyes, you can breathe better, and there is no need for unending haste.

Let Me be your Motivator. Am I not more worthy than an imaginary score card?

Win Me! I am winnable. I will help you. I desire to be won. I oil the ropes. I make sure you will win.

Of course, when you win Me, the world as you have known it, collapses, and you find yourself on an adventure of such stillness, such marvelous stillness that you cannot pause from it, so marvelous that you can only remain enrapt in it.

From that place of silence, energy flows as if you have given it a one-time assent, and from then on, it flows by itself. Of course, it goes nowhere. It is everywhere, and so are you.

What pastures We have yet to frolic in, you and I! What flowers have We yet to pick!

What endorsement of life do We wish to give?

What mountain do We want to roll up or down?

What edge of the earth do We want to peer from?

What leap do We wish to make?

Who comes with Us?

What is Our Vision?

What is this far-seeingness?

What will We discover around the corner? What will be strewn on the street there, and what shall We pick up and what shall We leave lie?

When We have everything before Us, what is there We must hold on to?

When We let everything go, why does everything fly to Us?

Have I left out anything? What can be left out when all is complete and all is all-encompassing, and all is wonderful?

What treasures are hidden for you in the open fields! What gifts do you leave along the way?

What is the forecast, and what is the report?

And what matters when nothing matters at all?

What is happenstance but happenstance?

What is a penny worth but a penny?

And what is My worth, and how can yours be different?

How can you depart from Me when We are inseparable? And how can you return to Me when you have never left?

And how can I be God of everyone, and love so inalterably, and how can you?

And what, after all, when all is said and done — Where have We traveled and where have We been?

You are My arms reaching out to Myself. You, who are My arms, enfold Me and never let Me go — as if you can, as if that is a choice, as if that is an option, as if that is possible, as if it could ever be.

And the game of life that you have played is that, just a game, as if We are apart and We are rejoining that which was never unjoined.

What possible use is competing when all are rushing to their remembrance of Me?