A Choice You Made in a Far-distant Land
Heavenletter #5047 Published on: September 19, 2014
God said:
Certainly, you may feel that life is foisted upon you. No one on Earth would ever possibly choose some of what life brings, and, yet, there is an aspect of you that has chosen it. This is hard if not impossible for you to grasp. Of course, you would not choose it consciously, yet, somewhere, somehow, you invited it.
I do not say you invited it foolishly, although it certainly seems foolhardy to you now when this guest arrives. If it is illness that is your guest, you had a compunction toward it. In some way, you chose it. You may be surprised or shocked at its arrival, yet there is also a satisfaction in its arrival. No one could be satisfied with illness, yet it satisfies something in you. It must, because you are convinced of it. It is as if you can smile now, although consciously you don’t smile at all and never could. Nevertheless, in some far distant land, you put in an order for illness as a complement or completion to something. This is what you call fate, beloveds. You started fate’s motor. Fate is a choice you made in a far distant land, and now the choice you made is calling to you.
If you are capable of calling illness to you, you are also capable of sending it away. You can change your mind. You can unchoose your choices.
And all the fine things that enter your life, you also called to you. What is the script of your life but that which you have waved to? By some code, you yelled out or whispered:
“Come over. Come to me. Come right here. Bring me what you bring. You are my servant. You do my bidding. Long ago I bid you to come, and we meet here and now on Earth. I do not altogether forget our appointment. Nor must you. We have some kind of pact. A completion comes with you. Then it is done. We agreed to meet. At last, you are here. We shook hands on this.”
Servants can also be dismissed. A contract can be broken.
Everything you seem to be, you have chosen. Rich man, poor man, you have chosen it. You have chosen grief, and you have chosen happiness. It can be said, although you won’t like it, that grief is your happiness. Impossible, you say, and yet, do you not have a thread of suspicion now as to the truth of this?
No one is a victim. What may appear to be such a scenario has been chosen.
I do not say you invited it foolishly, although it certainly seems foolhardy to you now when this guest arrives. If it is illness that is your guest, you had a compunction toward it. In some way, you chose it. You may be surprised or shocked at its arrival, yet there is also a satisfaction in its arrival. No one could be satisfied with illness, yet it satisfies something in you. It must, because you are convinced of it. It is as if you can smile now, although consciously you don’t smile at all and never could. Nevertheless, in some far distant land, you put in an order for illness as a complement or completion to something. This is what you call fate, beloveds. You started fate’s motor. Fate is a choice you made in a far distant land, and now the choice you made is calling to you.
If you are capable of calling illness to you, you are also capable of sending it away. You can change your mind. You can unchoose your choices.
And all the fine things that enter your life, you also called to you. What is the script of your life but that which you have waved to? By some code, you yelled out or whispered:
“Come over. Come to me. Come right here. Bring me what you bring. You are my servant. You do my bidding. Long ago I bid you to come, and we meet here and now on Earth. I do not altogether forget our appointment. Nor must you. We have some kind of pact. A completion comes with you. Then it is done. We agreed to meet. At last, you are here. We shook hands on this.”
Servants can also be dismissed. A contract can be broken.
Everything you seem to be, you have chosen. Rich man, poor man, you have chosen it. You have chosen grief, and you have chosen happiness. It can be said, although you won’t like it, that grief is your happiness. Impossible, you say, and yet, do you not have a thread of suspicion now as to the truth of this?
No one is a victim. What may appear to be such a scenario has been chosen.
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This is one reason why you are not to complain. If you ordered lima bean soup, you ordered it. You don’t want to complain because complaining holds you where you are. You can courteously send the lima bean soup back. You don’t have to drink it any more than if you had ordered poison. You are not obliged. Come, be obliged to your Higher Self.
Take a new pledge now. Let go of the bonds that you may have tied yourself up with. Such promises you have made to yourself, you do not have to keep. You do not have to continue to play the cards you dealt to yourself. It’s perfectly fine to say: “Game’s over.”
You can always shuffle the cards and play again another day with a new hand. Even if blindfolded, you choose the cards you are seemingly dealt. You are the shuffler of the cards, and you are the dealer, and you choose the cards that you choose. You are not an unwitting partner. This is how you take responsibility for your life and how it plays itself out.
You are quite an arranger. However you have arranged the life you live, you can rearrange it. You are the interior decorator of your life, and, so, the composer of the world.
Take a new pledge now. Let go of the bonds that you may have tied yourself up with. Such promises you have made to yourself, you do not have to keep. You do not have to continue to play the cards you dealt to yourself. It’s perfectly fine to say: “Game’s over.”
You can always shuffle the cards and play again another day with a new hand. Even if blindfolded, you choose the cards you are seemingly dealt. You are the shuffler of the cards, and you are the dealer, and you choose the cards that you choose. You are not an unwitting partner. This is how you take responsibility for your life and how it plays itself out.
You are quite an arranger. However you have arranged the life you live, you can rearrange it. You are the interior decorator of your life, and, so, the composer of the world.
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