Red Room Where the Writers Are

   In our colorful dream, nothing lives that is not ours.  For ours is the heritage of the beloved.  Let a world of our own making, as it sleeps in its play of solidity--let this be our time that is no time.  Let it be our time to awaken to ourselves, and to one another, as we understand "one another".  Let this be our recognition of our peace, that a dream is a dream; that only the real exists, and nothing unreal; that we dream of we who dream; but there is God, and God is only Good.  Only this. 

   Words are sometimes like laying bricks with fists.  And other times, they flow like water, or sand through our fingers.  They are symbols, they are weapons.  They incite, they lead to healing.  They explode like startled birds, they float like a feather on the wind.  

    There are those who do not see; there are those who will not see; there are those who see and understand.  

   I believe there is no god separate from us.  My prayers are answered, and my meditations are attended by and with a peace that is not of this world.  I believe there is no death, nor evil presence, nor insane doctrines beyond the illusions of we who dream of despair.  My prayers are answered, and my song of thanks is heard, and it keeps me.  I believe all roads lead to What we call "God", for there is no other destination.  We never left Home, nor could we.  We are loved by/with a love that is not of this world.  It is perfect, and asks nothing.  It just extends. 

   Why do we still not realize the power we have?  The world we see was built on dreams.

   Our stories are ours, and no one can take them from us.  

   If you hid your hand behind your back in the morning, would you spend the rest of the day looking for it?  

   We know You.  You are energy, love, ever reaching joy.  We see no sign of any but You.  We offer no plea, not a single shout.  No cry in the night, no disaster, only this.  Our nature is ours because it is first Yours.  You have taught us of Your love, by knowing there is no lesson that has not always been known.   Yes, this is our connection to You, the turning of one who sleeps and dreams of distractions.  But nothing can pull us from Your sight, Father.  For even in sleep, we pray so.  Only the heavy-hearted could conceive of a god filled with eternal self-loathing.  We do not find that god here.  We find You.  Thank You, Father.  Amen.