It's just the story, mind you, literally "mind" you, but there seems to be falling in love arising. Dropping the pedantic semantics - which, by the way, If I never did, I'd never say anything - I've fallen in love with life. There is such a sweetness and richness to its quality; this was always its nature, but was hidden. There is no process in time that happens due to cause and effect, but what unfolds is less of a veil, no veil, in fact there never was any veil. The richness and wholeness, sweetness and fullness simply is, and I am that. All in this endless moment that is not now, for "now" implies "then". It is simply this, this that is all, this that is what we are, boundless and timeless, unspectacular and absolute. There is no story in time, but I have wandered from the desert, and meandered into the garden. Some stories teach, some horrify, and some refresh.
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