Dripping with countless names, the divine Namelessness emerges from the mysterious sea. The presence of this Namelessness is immense, yet intimate, timeless and yet immediate.
It holds the book of life in two of its eight arms, and opens the tome to you. You may glimpse a page, or read a passage, but you will not remember a word. Our stories are written in this book of life. But none of us is in control of the narrative.
The plot twists are a surprise even to the book's true author. Its nature is paradoxical; although it is a work-in-progress, every word was written before the beginning.
Within the book, the narratives of our lives flow on like raging rivers emptying into that mysterious sea, from which the Divine Namelessness emerges, holding open the book of life, dripping with so many names.
You are at once both the stream of consciousness within your own narrative and the true author of the book itself. How this is possible is the secret of creation. It is written in invisible ink on the parchment of love.
