Just a reminder: I have a small book about A Course in Miracles here if you are interested . . .
It is important to remember that the present moment is always sufficient unto our learning. Nothing needs to be added and nothing needs to be subtracted: we are always given all that we need to remember that God dwells in us as we dwell in God. That memory is the end of conflict and the beginning of the peace that surpasses understanding.
This memory is a gift, which means that we do not bring it to the table. It is given to us unconditionally. Our role is simply to be present and to accept it.
How do we do this in practice? We give attention to the present moment as it arises – no more and no less. If we are stuck in traffic on our way to the beach, then okay. God is with us if we will simply give attention to God. If we are trembling with joy beholding sun rise with our beloved, then okay. God is with us if we will simply give attention to God.
The external circumstances are not what matters: our attention to them is.
When we do this – when we make it our practice – we begin to see how attention moves quickly away from the sunset or the traffic jam and to something that is more abstract and always internal. It might be fear or happiness. It might be guilt or longing. We begin to perceive the inward condition from the which the external draws its force.
But that is not the end, either. For beyond the welter of feelings and ideas and beliefs and images there is yet a deeper and quieter stillness. If we choose to sift downward through the chaotic rumbling of thought, we will come to the slow peace of God that flows silently through all Life, inspiring us – filling us – and simultaneously drawing us back into its rhythmic and merciful pulse.
This is for us: this is us. And when we accept it, we do not accept it for ourselves alone but for all our brothers and sisters, whatever form – mineral, vegetable, animal – that they take. We are all in this together and when one of us remembers it, we all remember it. We are all lifted.
That is the knowledge inherent in the present moment: that is the certainty that rests in what is and asks only that we open ourselves to it, as it opens for us.
In a sense, these are just words, and words are never what we are after. But in another sense, you know what I am saying – some recollection, however dim, is sparked hereby – and so the words become a fragile step upon which we take one another’s hand and slip into the stream that is Life, that is God, that is outside words and to which all our being offers itself.