I live in a house, but it is not my home. My home is from where I begin; it is my source. No matter where I go and what I do in this world, I am always at home. Everyone is welcome in my home, but most cannot tolerate the stillness. 

They are active and busy in their lives and this becomes the barrier; some because it reflects their mind, and some because they allow it to become their mind. The pressure of the world is too much for them to resist. As a result, they perceive me as being too distant to talk to, much less connect with.

My home is sacred and must be respected simply to enter. There are no objects in my home, no clothing,.. not even the bodies we are so familiar with. Individuals in my home are distinct and separate simply by their willingness to be. What allows them to stay is the awareness that nothing else is required. It is very difficult to maintain these two conditions, thus very few have ever visited my home, much less stay to make it their home as well.

There are some people who believe they have come to my home because they can picture it in their mind’s eye, or understand it logically, or they have learned to manufacture the feeling in their heart. But, this cannot be because there is nothing material in my home; no objects, no structures, and no feelings.

Others try to bring me to their understanding. They wish to connect with me, but when they cannot they blame me for it. As we exist in the same world, they fight against my mind and my body in an effort to make the world reflect their mind… to make the world in their image.

I will always sit peacefully and patiently in my home waiting for visitors; happy to meet and connect with those who can make the journey. No, I am not lonely. Loneliness requires time to pass. There is no time in my home.