attachment to ideas
When you feel in the grips of something, in the grips of pain, perhaps, or in the grips of fear, or even in the grips of love, you have propelled yourself there and gripped that place, that occasion, that person. You attached yourself there. How crass of Me to say you are attached to even your pain, but attachment is its own pain. Attachment is false. Attachment is a conception you have, and — listen to this — it is never based on truth.
Attaching is its own art. You are skilled. You insert yourself. You embed yourself. You hold on for dear life.
When you let go of any attachment, you are uplifted. Letting go is being uplifted. You want to be uplifted, but you don't want to let go.
Anytime you have felt inspired, something in you lifted. Your attachment to darkness loosened its hold. You saw the light. You saw a new way. That was your lifting. You opened a blind. You let the light through. The light came through simply because you opened a blind.
You have blind spots, and they are dear to you. You hold them to you as your preciousness. Your darling denials. You seem to feel you must nourish them.
Let Me be a stronger force in your life.
Pay more attention to Me than you pay to the drifts of snow. Than you pay to the winds of change. Than you pay to looks you get from others. Than you pay to the words of others. Than you pay to yourself.
Paying attention to Me is paying nothing. It is getting your mind off details of human life and putting it on an eternity of vastness.
Paying attention to Me is lifting yourself to where you long to be.
Paying attention to Me is seeing where you, in truth, are.
Paying attention to Me is filling yourself up.
All of life experience is symbolic. It is a representation of a variant of truth. All that occurs is an opera or drama or comedy. But all is symbolic of the indestructibility of the human soul. A dance is more than a dance. It represents something, perhaps the movement of life and the movement of the dancers in life. Music is the background. Song is the soul singing to itself. And life itself is the rolling over of the music upon itself.