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If I could tell him one thing, it would be this: be who you are, now. I can tell him, but not without that lingering notion that I don’t really mean it. I can tell him, but not yet without the tears in my eyes.
If I could say one last thing, it would be this: love you who are, now…right now. I can tell him, but he’s not ready. I can say the words, but he thinks me biased, blinded by preciousness.
I tell you this: I have seen unconditional love. I have held it tightly only to let it fly. I have danced with it until my feet were bruised and bloodied. I have taken it on as me.
And then I get scared.
Yet above and below there is a sense that we are safe. I bleed into it sometimes. I feel pushed by it. The unconditional love is there. It is a well I draw from on instinct. When I look in his eyes, I drink from that well. We live there, I think. But we forget.
So I’ll tell him all I feel compelled to in silence. I will whisper it as a prayer to this soft, yet empty room. I will let my words bounce gently off the walls and gather them up as light kisses on my skin.
And I will know: I can be who I am, now. I can love who I am, now…right now.
And all is unfolding just as it should.
Indeed, I cannot be anything but what I am.