Why would I want to write now, when I already am? To be is so amply enough. My contentment is unshakeable. I need nothing at all. Everything else is just surface noise. This moment is so full. It’s bursting at the seams. Why would I add to it? Why would I even try? I had planned to write at this time, and that’s the only reason I’m doing it. To write right now is to touch time with that which has never been touched by time. The surface desires the depth to be here, to make itself known among us. So I reluctantly move my fingers across the keyboard. But you will have to ask me something, because I see no need to keep writing.

How can I know that you and I are one and the same?

I am the Ground of all being, not just some beings, not just some states. My contentment is available for all. How can you know this? Meet me halfway and we can traverse the depths together. Up and down and in and out. If you keep your eyes on me, you’ll see that I am always by your side. Who, after all, made the decision to meditate this morning?

But you seem to be so indifferent! Why do you just sit there with that dumb look on your face?

The dumb look is yours, as you rest in my depths. I may seem indifferent, but are you not experiencing peace right now?

Is peace the same thing as indifference?

If I were truly indifferent, you would not be here—let alone be here experiencing peace.

So how do we go on with our day?

Operate from your normal level of consciousness and trust that I am always here. If your peace wanes, just look again, and you’ll see I have never left. Go on now. You’ll do great.

Did you know that when we don’t live in the moment, we are creating hell for ourselves? This means that we spend most of our time in hell. That we’re used to it doesn’t make it any less hell. Hell is separation. To live in the moment is to be reconnected with who we are.

The “moment” may sound like a vacuous concept, devoid of any real power. And of course that’s what it is when that’s all you allow it to be. You can’t be talked into believing in the moment any more than you can be talked into believing in God, another vacuous concept for many people. But you might be talked into investigating it for yourself.

To have faith in the moment is to have faith in God. You must not take my word for it, or you will only pad your hell with concepts of heaven, which, if anything, will only make it worse. But if a concept or a message leads you into practice, then it makes it all worth writing about.

The moment is where you find that, once you’ve emptied yourself of all the things you think you need to hold onto, there is actually a fullness that is more than enough to sustain you and to live your life beautifully. But you have to let go of everything you think you know, everything you think you need, everything you think is keeping you alive and safe. The best way I know of to do this is to meditate.

Since we spend most of our time in hell, we have very weak heaven muscles. Fortunately, there is no mystery as to how to develop heaven muscles. There is a reason we see very similar spiritual practices and disciplines among all the world’s religious traditions. It’s because they work. I commend them to you. When you start practicing them, especially meditation, you will begin to realize just how many layers of mind separate you from yourself. And you’ll see why it’s called a “practice” and a “discipline.” You’ll see that accessing the moment is no trivial matter, even if it is, paradoxically, the easiest and simplest thing in the world.

Just to warn you, this is not an experience you can just go get and then you’re covered. No. It’s more like a place to rest. A place you will leave many times even though you don’t actually have to leave. When you leave, life will become confusing once again. Perhaps even more confusing than it was before. That’s because when you’ve tasted heaven, hell becomes more painful than it was before. You’ll feel like you’ve come nowhere. You’ll feel like it was all for naught. You’ll wonder what you were ever thinking.

“For he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.”
—Hebrews 13:5

But then, one day, you’ll realize in an instant that the moment is still here. That it never actually left you. You’ll see so clearly how all the effort you’ve been exerting to fill yourself up, to fill the hole in your heart, to dull the pain—you’ll see how unnecessary it was. And you’ll wake up in the midst of your cluttered life realizing you always already had everything you needed. Because even though you may have repeatedly forsaken the moment, the moment never forsook you. It is still here, closer than your heartbeat, filling you to perfection, offering a wellspring of inspiration and energy and motivation.

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.
—Isaiah 40:31