John M. to God:

Dear God, I cannot find the words to write You. I already know You know my questions, my doubts, my gratitude. I feel, in some way, that asking You a question is lying, saying to myself and You that I have not already heard Your answer.

So I will simply thank You for the bounty you have given me, both the good and what I may have considered to be not so good. I thank You for them both. However, both are blessings. There is no escaping your Grace. I can at times become wrapped up in some story of doubt, in striving and attaining something. But all I need to do is stop and see. You, the subject, are always present.

Present me with the opportunity to surrender more deeply to You. I no longer wish to play hide and seek. I know that You will continue to give Your bounty without my asking. I accept it in whatever form it is given.

Thank You.

God to John M.:

Hello, My magnificence, My Oneness. We are at the core of each other. We anticipate each other. We converge. We swim in the waters of the ocean, and We rest at the sands of the shore, and where are We not? And where are We next?

At the same time, We can play hide and seek. It is allowed. We can play peek-a-boo. We can play anything. The thing is We play. We play together. We engage.

In this dance of Ours, We come together and We step apart in order to come together again. So long as there is human life, We play a game of bouncing off each other. Even so, there is no other or Other because there is Oneness and nothing else.

Who looks in the mirror, My dear son John? Who made Me the Father and you the son? Were We created together? Are We created? Who is the reflection, and Who is the image, and Which is Which? And what do these words matter?

What We call Our Oneness, what We say about it, that is all play and game too.

No words can describe Us. No sentiment.

We are the Immovable at the same time as We sweep across the universe. We are before and beyond speech, and yet We are speech.

A mother plays peek-a-boo with her baby. A blanket is held up, and for one remarkable moment, mother and baby are hidden from each other. And then the delightful surprise — that is no surprise and yet is ever a surprise — the blanket comes down, and the eyes of the mother and child meet in laughter and joy. Every time. Time and time again. What a parable of Our Union.

Nothing is changed when the blanket is up or the blanket is down. It is all play of love.

And that is what We do. We play. Our love is Our love regardless of the play and interplay, regardless of the name of Our game, regardless of the timing, for We are love.

All is known. The truth is never hidden from Us. Sometimes the blanket is up, or the blanket is down, or hands cover eyes, or eyes are closed, or face averted, but that is the only difference, and it makes no difference.

Well, John, what is next in Our career of life together? What do you want? Tell Me what you want because I like to hear it. Tell Me what you want as I tell you. Our thoughts meld. Our thoughts dance. I like to hear Myself talking. By all means, commune with Me, even if it is talking to yourself. The silence is always there anyway.

What are We but a blob of love that tips here and there and, for the fun of it, We say one end of Our blobbedness is you and the aura of it or the centeredness of it is Me, but we know that is just for the sake of argument. And how engaging is that argument, what a stirring, what an emollient.

John, what have we done here? What are We cooking? What are We about? Come find Me even though you know where I am. Come find Me. Come play with Me. Let's not stand on ceremony or words. Let Us be one another and create harmony. You sing and I sing, and We sing rounds, and round and round We sing. I sing of thee, and you sing of Me, and We sing, We sing, We sing, and Whose song is it if not Ours? And Who hears it if not We?