At some point, functioning according to the dictates of the ego seems so hopelessly complex, confusing and pointless, that you just surrender and give all to the all.
“Here you go. You figure it out. I really don’t know what to do with this,” I say to the intelligence of the Universe. Or the Multiverse. Or Life. Or whatever that thing is. It’s Love. It deserves a capital letter since I’m giving everything to it.
You tell me when to move, and I’ll do it. I’m learning to trust that your instructions are much, much better than mine. And there is no yours and mine, not really.