Even your thoughts come in waves. Waves are the motion of relative life. The ocean is the Source.

Waves have their own momentum. They pull back in order to propel forward. Waves come, and waves go. The Ocean is.

You know the silence of the Ocean and the thunder of the waves that burst. There is in and out. There is up and down. There is the roll of the cart. There is contraction and expansion. There is the surge in the heart.

The world considers that opposites exist. But it is all one turn of the wheel. Up is part of the circle of down. In and out are one revolution. There is squeeze, and there is release. There is impulse, and there is the ebbing of it.

All that is considered two rolls of the dice is one. A wave hoists itself up, readying for another burst of itself. All this is in the shape of the relative life. Yet there is still the depths of the Ocean, and the Ocean is still.

The universe bursts into song. High note, low note, there is one song, and it plays out all new, never as before, and yet Oneness repeats itself over and over again. All in the world is movement, and yet it is movement of stillness. Life in the world is a dance of motionlessness.

A parade of life marches before you, and you find yourself marching in the parade. Is that not a strange-seeming thing? You are part of life, and yet you are the all-knowing observer of it. That which you watch is yourself. And so you watch yourself watching yourself in the mirror of life.

You draw a breath in and a breath out. Yet there is one breath, and that one breath holds up the Earth and galaxies. The world is far-flung, and yet it is in the palm of your hand.

You try to grasp infinity in words. The words are on your tongue. You exult in sound, and you name the sounds. The sounds become objects. The sounds dance before your eyes. They drop on the ground and grow to be trees. The trees of your thoughts grow before your very eyes.

The world is like a blanket you cover yourself with. It is a momentous mountain of momentum. It is the forest and the glade too. It is the flatland and the high road of yourself that you encircle. It is yourself exploring the wonderment of yourself, yet you hardly dare grasp the wonder. You cannot hold it in your hand. It is just out of your reach but not out of mind and heart.

You are full and you are empty. You are everything, and you are nothing. You are Oh, and you are Ah, and you are Yes, and you are No.

You clothe yourself, and you bare yourself. You cannot hide from yourself although you think you do hide. Nothing is hidden from you. All is revealed. And all reveal. Life reveals itself, and you are the revealer.

You enter, and you withdraw. You draw and you erase. You declare and you disavow.

You are the stillness of My heart, and its beat. My wonders you do perform, and you innocently choose unawareness over awareness.

You seek and you find. You drop and you pick up. You are the winding crank of the universe. You dribble your hand in the water.

You hide in a closet, and you find you are onstage. There is no closet, and there is no curtain. There is solely you, and solely I. You think East is East and West is West, but Ocean is Ocean, and Sea is Sea, and you and I are One.