When you remember I'm right there.

The fear leaves. Have you noticed that?

But you forget.

You walked right past me this morning.

Like most mornings, you walked right through me,

passed right through me, while you were reconstructing your

ego and your story and getting dressed again and your problems while you were remembering what

was wrong you were ignoring the absolute rightness of everything.

I'm there with you right now, looking at you, waiting on you to see, not my form, but my forms,

including you.

There's a stillness here.

That's as thick as cake batter, as rich as cake batter.

And when noticed is cake, when noticed, I become the very solution you've been praying for. The very blessing you felt was blocked because you were actively resisting. Now you're purposefully stilling,

lining up with the stillness that was already present in the midst of you,

as if a perfectly still light-body version of you was standing before you,

and you slowly stepped into it.

You slowly stepped into yourself, stepped into the silence,

lined up hand to hand, foot to foot, arm to arm, chest to chest, head to head with the vibrant,

still self we've always been. And now you reign from here, from that one, from the nothingness that is everything, from the me that is you.

I love you.