In my more sane moments I am aware my life is guided. I feel myself being carried in a harmonious stream of consciousness. I trust where it carries me, though I (thankfully) cannot describe or define where that may be. Much of the time, however, my moments are not so sane. The stream becomes choked with images of rocks and fallen trees. The peaceful flow now seems menaced by treacherous rapids and unseen pit-falls. The world seems gripped by poverty, war and disease. I see brothers caught in the swirling current, surely being drawn to their death. My mind screams, go back, find a way to help them! But I feel powerless to avoid the looming disasters. And then, just as it all seems hopeless I somehow remember, this world exists in my mind; the disasters are only my fearful thoughts, arising from a belief that isn’t true, from a time that is already past and gone. I, and they, are now free as we always have been. Then, as though smoothed by an unseen hand, the stream is tranquil again. The ones who seemed to be drowning and the ones I thought were to blame, now peacefully share the flow with me. Nothing really has changed, yet the world I see has shifted completely.