I With Great Truth Catch Mere Simplicity.

It's either oneness or it isn't, and it is. There is either no time, or time; there is no time. All that seems to happen happens in this everlasting moment, all there ever is, no past, no present, no future. It is all we ever have; and what we have is everything. So many stories seem to unfold, yet there is no unfolding; there is only this. So many apparent happenings, or experiences, are lauded above others; yet whatever happens is the one, in another guise. Whatever choices seem to be made choose oneness, in another form. There can be no end to suffering, yet another story, without an ending to bliss. And there is no goal, no direction, no desirable outcome; it is as it must be, and life's purpose is itself. Every apparent happening is existence in its infinite play; there must be separation for life to apprehend itself. We are lived in perfection. The agonising over the existence of a separate self is just as it should be. The dissolution of a separate self, the ultimate goal of so many, is yet another story; unimportant, miraculous. Whether oneness is sensed or not, matters not. Whatever this life seems to be, it is as it must be. Nothing is a mistake, even as apparent mistakes are made; whatever is happening is happening; and whether the illusion of duality is seen through or not, the goal is always met.