Holy Spirited

{Me, thinking] I'm sitting here thinking about automatic writing... which is not what I think I'm doing while I wait to hear God's voice inside me... but not a voice really, and not really automatic either...]

No, there’s nothing automatic about automatic writing.

You’re conscious, you’re awake, in both senses of that word. 

You’re controlling your fingers, you're just setting aside the part of your mind that interferes with the pure words of Light flowing through them from my heart to yours.

And my heart is yours, and yours is mine. The words add a limit that doesn’t exist in reality of all that IS.

Your mind has been in turmoil, and it’s like the skin on your feet we spoke about last time – it’s fragile and liable to run into fear and desperation if you don’t watch it.

Your thoughts, even when you were meditating prior to this conversation, your thoughts were running away with you.

When your mind runs, it’s the sort of running that doesn’t build up a good layer of protection.

Your mind is not like a foot. Your mind is an intangible, non-physical entity as a mirror reflection of the true being that you are.

Your mind can toughen, but this is the opposite of what you want it to do.

A soft mind is the goal. A mind through which thoughts and ideas can flow as easily as air through the branches of a tree, when a soft breeze blows. This is what your mind should do.

The tree does not grasp the air, seek to contain it, bottle it, conserve it. 

The tree enjoys the feeling of the gentle air lifting up its branches, tickling its delicate leaves.

This is a good visual image of how your mind should work when it’s working with the energies of God. 

Those energies are fine, delicate, harmonious, unthreatening, soft, light, beautiful. The breath of God is like a cooling fragrant breeze on a warm day, filling you with tender loving air.

A rigid tree, frightened, lacking love, terrified of death, cannot enjoy the air. When you’re brittle, everything feels like it might break you. 

Soften up, and let the wind of the Holy Spirit swirl softly and delight you.

Nothing about me is angry, or harsh, or ready to attack. That is all in the mind when you hold your mind like a rigid tree, zapped of all the natural bends and graceful shapes it was intended for.

Yet a tree is hard to the touch. It has a protective layer, just like the feet we last spoke about. But it didn’t grow this hard exterior to prevent the flow of wind through its many branches, but to allow it to live in this world and thrive. 

Imagine a soft green shoot, the birth of a physical tree in this world, and how harsh the conditions of earth would be.

So it starts tiny, in soil, protected from rain and harsh wind by a layer of nourishing earth from which it can get everything it needs. 

And when it’s ready, it breaks through, but sheltered still by taller bushes and trees, which take off the edges of the wind and allow it to strengthen in the relative quiet of the low undergrowth, its roots growing stronger and more able to pull sustenance from the earth that supports it.

And slowly, slowly, time improves the sapling, and then it can stand alone, and then it grows used to the environment, and over time takes on new structure and strength and becomes a magnificent force of nature, shaped by love and trust and time and a willingness to adapt.

We look at the outside of the tree, and we see something fixed and unchanging. But inside, the tree survives through networks of passages that allow water and food to reach even its most high places. It remains supple, adaptable, it can be chopped and still thrive. 

It can lose leaves, and shed fruits to the Earth, and grow every part of itself anew year after year. And it does all this without grabbing onto the wind. Without straining to feel the sun.

Dear child, be supple in me. Allow your mind to open and accept. 

There is no need to grab, or force. There’s nothing you can take from me that I do not willingly offer you in every moment of your eternal life. 

Do you know that I cannot withhold anything from you? It’s not in my nature. Love is giving, always. I give and I give and I take nothing from you.

I do not need anything from you, because when I look at you it’s myself I’m looking at. You’re part of my being, dear love, and so giving to you isn’t even the right concept, because you already have all of it. There’s nothing to give you. 

I simply share everything with everything, because everything is the same. What I have, you have.

Be like the tree. Know you have the wind today, tomorrow, always. Know the sun will permanently shine. 

Know the ground beneath you will fill with goodness and offer it up to you without your conscious thought. Know. Know. The tree grows because it knows. 

I love you and will never leave you.