How beautiful are the words I whisper to you. I need not even whisper. My thought vibrates, and you hear the vibrations as sound converted into words.

Beauty doesn’t speak in words. Consider My thoughts beauty. Words are manifested, beauty is manifested. They arise from the Unmanifest. Tell Me, what could manifest without the Unmanifest. Where would it come from? What tree would manifest without a seed?

Seeds become saplings. Seeds buried are not seen, but from a seed, a tree spirals upwards.

The Unmanifest supports you. You feel buoyed as if from below, but in actuality that which supports you is on all sides of you.

Inside the skin of a grape lies the moist exuding delicacy to be eaten.

You arose from somewhere. There was a bursting forth of soul, and here you are. My thought arose, and from My thought, you arose, seamlessly, effortlessly, the way a ship appears over the horizon.

My beautiful child, what wonders I performed to create you. I create you still. Complete, you are yet being formed. You form yourself now in your mind. You carry your own thoughts, and your thoughts manifest, plying you this way and that.

This is life, beloveds, always forming, undulating, compressing, expanding, contracting. With each squeeze, like the grape, you burst forth.

The form of you is a form. It is not you. You are beyond form. The Unmanifest is unformed. From the unformed, you came. The Unmanifest is like a breath not yet taken. Where does a breath come from, and where does a breath go?

How beautiful is the Moon, that white boat in the sea of the sky. From what was the Moon formed if not from the same Unmanifest as you? What energy of Mine created the Moon in all its splendor? From what Silence was its silence created? Whither wanders the Moon, and what is it saying from its port in the night-star-studded sky?

The Moon exists, and you perceive it. As you perceive, so the Moon appears. The Moon dips in and out of your view, yet the Moon always is. What is seen is seen. What is unseen is unseen, yet where lies the Power in the seen?

What propels a train? The cars do not propel themselves. There is an engine, engineered by a man in a cap.

Whose Hand created you? From what formula were you made? What precision made you precisely as you are?

Once and for all, will you be glad that you are My specious child, created from and for My joy and the joy of the world? It is My genes you carry. It is My thought and My love that are your lineage.

If you want to know where you come from, then know Me. Leave the frills of life for a little while and drink from My cup of love. We drink together in the embrace of Our thought. We look into each other’s eyes. I say: “I am you.” You say: “I am You.” And never the twain shall part.

My thought skipped away from Me, yet it is still Mine. My thought slipped away, but it eludes Me not.

You know you precisely. In terms of the world, there is no one just like you. In My terms, you are just like Me! This must be so because I created you. I created you in My image. From the seed planted, a tree grows. I planted you deep in My heart. I wear you like a medal. The medal sparkles in the Sun. My own true love is Mine, clasped in My heart, incapable of leaving.