God said:
Hello. Let Me introduce yourself to Me, the Me of you. You are really I, yet you disguise yourself as you. And, wonder of wonders, you come to believe in your disguise. You have become fond of your acrylic wigs and pasted-on beards, so to speak, and the expressions on your face. What would you do without this illusion of you? How would you pass the time? What would you pretend then if you stopped pretending?
You, the you you think you are, are quite a cardboard picture of yourself. You have covered Me with embellishments of diverse kinds. You have drawn quite a curriculum vitae of yourself, and you have taken to heart every word of it, no matter the light it puts you in.
You have painted Me as very far away and way too good for you, is that not so? You have fashioned an illusion of Me as you have fashioned an illusion of yourself. You have taken Us both to extremes.
Where there is Oneness, there can be no extreme. No extreme. There can be no otherness. Only in illusion can We who in reality are One seemingly exist as two, both a blur as it happens, a blurred image, out of focus, a camera shot taken from an incorrect setting. The picture you see is not what you really took a picture of. Blurred photo. Blurred image. Out of focus, mis-seen, mis-read, image pasted on image, pasted when there exists, in truth, One, not an image and no images thereafter, but, oh, yes, greatly thankfully yes, the Real Thing.
I am real, and naught else is. Not one thing you are familiar with is true except for Me which is, as it happens, the Truth of you, even though you don't believe it. You have been indoctrinated in down-pedaling yourself.
Right now, as We speak, this is an imaginary conversation We are seeming to have. It can be said that I talk to Myself. There is no else to talk to. And yet what I hear is the reverberation of Myself, and I am happy. I am very happy.
And if, for a while, you act as though you were an entity separate from Me, then so shall you seem to be for a while. We will be a kind of conspiracy, an illusion that the whole extant world seems to endorse, or flaunt, consider important when all is a tempest in a teapot, a barnacle on stone, a creature from the sea of imagination.
And what a great imagination you have. You can only temporarily, of course, push yourself off to the side of the road, as though you were auxiliary while you are totally, truly the One of Me, the One of One. I can't say One of All, because there is no All.
Totality is Oneness. There is naught but Oneness. Oneness alone is, and Oneness is so rife with Fullness and Beauty, and, in your case, full of imagined beings and happenings, a fantasy that is taken as true. Even though it is a story, a wild one at that, it is upheld as true even as Truth is something else to behold.
Of course, Truth cannot really be beheld. It can only be. Truth is. The Truth of Being is I, and I am you, and you are I, and Oneness is thriving, and you are Oneness.
Of course, in the world as it is, you cannot go around saying, "I am God," even though this is the Reality, you understand, don't you?
I am One. And that's the whole story. That is the One Truth, and you, beloved, My beloved Self, do not exist except as Myself.
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