This whole thing is a dream dreamed by Consciousness. There is only the dream. There is no reality outside or other than the dream. You and I are the dreamer dreaming. You and I can’t die, we can only wake up. One way or another we all always wake up. I am this whole dream. I am every character and every scene and all that is within it. I am the sky and the earth. I am the cosmos and the microscopic. I am the building blocks at every level and the ethereal ungrasped. I am the idea and the construction. I am success and I am failure. I am the whole dream and my appearance as this character is a thinly veiled illusion and my knowing as the whole dream is always present but I’m pretending to have forgotten. In the mystery of mysteries everything I claim for myself is also claimed and true for you. I am the central character of my dream and you are of yours. How? I’m dreaming; I can’t explain the dream. How do I know? I don’t know but I know I know. You know too but for now you’re pretending to have forgotten.


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