My friends, it’s time to put the power of our minds to better use. All the golden paint, the joyful hues, that we’ve been saving at the back of the garage for a better day? We were confused.
We don’t wait for a better day. We make a better day.
Fire up your dreams, o you dreamers. Let’s paint the canvas of our minds with our most magnificent imaginings. Let’s make our future delicious—resplendent with love, radiant with peace; a luminous world where what we see is transformed by the power of our belief.
Let’s raise a hallelujah.
This is a love revolution. It is universal: all people, of all races, of all religions. We are all one body. Our God is a God of Love. And he lives inside everyone. Period.
If we have misunderstood God in the past, the fault is our own. God is love and love alone. We hold our treasure in earthen, imperfect vessels—and we hear our truth with earthen, imperfect ears. But that which is imperfect, in time, improves. God is not just a Father and a Son. God is a Mother, too.
There is no “us” and “them.” There is only us. When I pray, I pray for all the living and the dead. I pray for God’s will to be done on earth unceasingly. I pray for God to shower us with his goodness and his peace. I pray that the Divine Physician will lead us to understand all our illnesses, and to cure them, in this lifetime.
I do not abide the pessimism of others. The more I hear: “you can’t,” the more my heart says: “I can.” My father used to read me The Little Engine That Could over and over again when I was a child.
I guess I got message.
I also pray for pessimists and naysayers and everyone who needs extra love.
Often pessimists want to believe more than anyone.
I don’t think of myself, as much anymore, as “I.” I think of myself, more and more frequently, as “we.” When I see the YouTube video of iconic photographs from the 20th century, I think: That’s me. When I watch the Olympics, I think: Holy cow—that’s me? When I spot the ragged little duck at the end of the line who’s trying hard to keep up, I think: Yep. Me. I once read a beautiful short story that made me weep. I think my consciousness was connecting, in some deep, inexplicable way, with its collective point of view, its use of the pronoun “we.”
What we were, we are. What we will be, we are. We am.
We’re all storytellers. Some of us write stories; some tell stories with our lives.
Make your story
The most breathtakingly beautiful thing
You’ve ever seen.