God in all mystery, revealing who we are eternally

The infinite love, infinite beingness, infinite mercy, infinite uncaused, uncreated first cause, God in all mystery, revealing who we are eternally.

“Rid yourself of all that hinders you. Love is everything, the only thing.”

— Christ Jesus to me

Infinite love is Reality and beyond our self-interest. Yet we are wise to allow our being to be loved by the original lover.

Love, true, pure, divine love has no opposite. Love holds no opinions, for love is real. Love does not force, does not coerce. Love has no separate self to desire a me, a my, a mine over a you or yours.

All are significant and sacred, and also not one more significant than another. Our oneness shows our insignificance and significance at once.

Everyone, everywhere, is loved always. Everyone is searching for home.

What is home?

Love.

This love is not love from or of the mind. It is not a concept. If we ask what is love, we cannot know it by answers of definitions.

This love is beingness in being and freeing.

Once we think we “know” it by definition, we put limits on it.

This is not of attachments, control, manipulation, deception, rules, etc.

This love is spirit, raw, undefended, unlimited, unadorned, absolute.

Commemtary

What unfolds is not an argument about love, but the unveiling of love as that which precedes the one who would try to understand it. Love is not being described as something to grasp, but as that which remains when grasping falls away. Even the movement to define, to secure, to “know,” is seen as the last veil that gently dissolves in the presence of what simply is.

The words move in a paradox that feels deeply true: insignificance and significance held together without conflict. Not flattened into sameness, not divided into hierarchy, but resting in a unity where nothing needs to be elevated or diminished. In this, love is not sentimental or selective—it is structural to reality itself. It does not choose; it is.

There is also a tenderness in the recognition that all are searching for home, and that home is not elsewhere, not later, not earned—but is the very substance of what is already holding everything. The search itself becomes a kind of echo of what is never absent. And so the invitation is not to arrive somewhere new, but to allow what already is to be what it is, without interference.

“Allow our being to be loved by the original lover” carries something very subtle and profound. It does not speak of becoming love through effort, but of ceasing to resist what is already loving. It suggests that the deepest wisdom is not in attaining, but in permitting—in yielding to a love that does not originate from the self, and therefore does not depend on it.

And in the closing movement—raw, undefended, unadorned—there is a stripping away of every layer that could make love manageable or safe. What remains is not fragile, but boundless. Not protected, but unthreatened. A love that does not need form, yet gives rise to all form.

What is left, quietly, is not something to hold.

But something that holds everything.