Silken Threads | Heavenletters

God said:

Beautiful Beings of Light, get up and arise to behold the dawning of yourself. You are rising, rising. You stride the world. In one giant leap you cover the Earth and all that is not the Earth. You live in a universe. It is a universe of love and it is a universe of thought. You live in the universe. The universe is your home.

I do not live separately from you. I too live on Earth, and you too live in Heaven. I never forget Heaven. I know where I am. You often forget. You think you are a mere human being while I know you are a mighty Human Being, made with My hands and the pounding of My heart.

We share Our Being. Our lives entwine. Our existences are woven together. We are sewn from the same cloth.

I spread a blanket before you to lie on. I packed a picnic basket. I gave you sandwiches and salad and pure water to drink. I gave you treasure to last a lifetime. You are not sure where you put the picnic basket. That’s all right, because I carry it for you. I also carry you.

You walk on your own, and I carry you. Don’t try to figure it out. It just is so. We could say I carry Myself as I stride across the universe, but I say now that I carry you. We could say you carry Me, and we say the same thing.

I spread the dawn for you like a blanket. The Sun rises at My behest to sparkle you in light. The Moon nods its approval and follows later, enclosing you in white. Father Day and Mother Night rock you in their arms. I press a treadle as on a sewing machine, and I stitch away. You pull threads and so your life unfolds.

Love holds the silken threads together. Love is silk thread. It goes horizontal and it goes latitudinal. All threads embrace. On this adventure of life, what else is there to do?

You are a weaver of love. Love is the material in your hand. You knit, you crochet, you work the loom. You help Me out. You help Me reach everywhere. You are My thousand eyes and My thousand arms. You go out and work the fields for Me and you come and tell Me all about it.

You cook a stew and you tell Me what it tastes like. You are My emissary in life. You are My reporter. You report to Me. You tell Me your stories. You make them up. I listen just the same. I listen to all the variations of Infinite Love. You tell only a little part of the story. You fabricate, and you believe your embellishments. You do not know you are writing a love story. You see the plot and don’t recognize the theme. The theme is love.

How could it be otherwise inasmuch as I made you of love. You are My love. And I propagated you on Earth. You are My fruit, and you are getting ripe, beloveds. You are just ready to burst across the horizon like a chariot flying with great speed. You are the apple I have sown, and now you throw yourself to Me, and I catch you in My hand faster than the speed of light, faster than everything because it is really that I tossed you in My hands from one to the other, and you have caught on, and you have caught up to Me in your reckoning, in your awareness, in your Realization, in your heart. Love finally recognized love and called it by your name.

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