The habit of time, and therefore identity, is always projecting everything outside of itself into a labyrinth of experience, believing that it is up to oneself to realize, embody, and anchor heaven on earth.
But what if the earth is heaven and heaven is the earth?
Let me go deeper.
Earth is not just the planet. It's also the apparent body that is arising as space-time. And throughout humanity’s history, the belief and stories of sin, karma, martyrdom, unworthiness, and therefore hierarchy have plagued the psyche of the humans' story. But what if everything you think you know about sin, earth, body, and mind is all just a fable? A bloody story that's been handed down by those who thought they knew and needed to share that knowing with others to make sense of a brilliant artistic canvas that never had any intention or meaning?
In other words, life is a meaningless portrait that only seems so important, broken, and out of whack when there is a sense of personal identity labeling, projecting, and defining the neutrality of What Is–this sweet simplicity of heaven.
But let's dive a little deeper because if we were raised in religion or any type of spiritual circle with a definition of heaven, we’re going to think there needs to be a certain quality, flavor, or texture to this simplicity, but heaven is actually qualityless but it is so free and unconditionally loving it allows all to appear. It doesn’t care what is projected onto it by a sleepy dreamer; because what seems to appear in the mind of a dreamy individual was never real or unreal but ephemeral in nature—similar to a nighty night dream experience—it can seem real, but it isn't.
Smoke & Mirrors.
These stories around the body being less than or merely human are nonsense (not wrong, but nonsense). The body and, therefore, the planet is an appearance of unconditional love, of light, of that which honestly can't be defined—call it God if that jingles your bells. Still, any word would do because this free and liberated energy we call body, mind, and planet is merely the Great Mystery, the undefinable Beloved appearing as all. No, not to get somewhere or to attain something but simply for the veneration of itself, which is absolutely nothing at its core.
Therefore, no past needs to be erased, and no future needs to be secured because the story of time is just that—a story. All there is this, my love, and it’s wonderfully nothing and therefore wonderfully enough. A paradox only the heart of intuition can hear and understand.
With Great Love,