I say that all is well. I say that tragedy is a false interpretation. Tragedy exists in the human mind. It is a fallacy. Oh, yes, there is drama. Drama is colorful. In the minds of humankind, tragedy is configured.
How can there be tragedy when everyone is with Me, safe and sound and glorious with Me?
Death is not tragedy. Life is not tragedy.
Attachment gives the strong illusion that tragedy is true. The idea of tragedy arises in the thoughts of the human mind："This should not have happened."
It happened. Death of the body is part of life.
On the other hand, you may say："Such and such was supposed to have happened, and it didn"t."Thus, more tragedy is produced in the human mind whether you want it or not, yet it is you who turns human life into categories of tragedy of one kind or another.
Certainly, there are matters in life that you desire and there are matters that you hope above hope will not happen. You attach plusses and minuses to life, when the story is that there is life. From your perspective, doors open and doors close. A screen door bangs. The wind blows it. Truly, beloveds, the banging of screen doors annoys you. Nevertheless, screen doors banging or death of the body or the slamming of a carved oaken door is simply what it is. For example, what is on the other side of the door is ever-present, only your view is blocked.
You conceive sizes of doors, weights of doors, and you decide, or the world has decided for you, which ones are huge and which ones are acceptable.
Death of a body is not acceptable to you. No matter, death — that which you call death — is frequent. It is ordinary, and yet, to your heart and eyes, it is unexpected and intolerable. The fact that it is common does not remove its weight from your shoulders.
You are convinced that death of the body, among other things, is a tragedy. I say otherwise.
Consider, if it helps, that death of a physical body is like a book-burning, beloveds. The concepts within a book, the heart and mind that wrote the book, are not destroyed. They continue.
The seriousness, the unforgivability that you hold death in, has to do with your construction of time. If you were not in the thrall of time, you would excuse yourself from sorrow. You would excuse yourself from the concepts of too soon or too early. Without the concept of time, nothing would be untenable to you.
If you consider that life is playing and splashing in a pool of water that never dries up, big splash and little splash would all be splashing and not made more of than that. Where would tragedy lie? Where does tragedy lie? It lies in the human mind, delivered to the heart, squashing and squeezing a heart that is meant to open and open and open and encompass the everythingness of love. You do not close the opening of a flower that is to bloom, and yet you close your lush beating heart under circumstances that you construe as heart-crushing. Your human mind accepts the concept of tragedy and yet, as yet, does not accept the concept that you attribute tragedy to that which is no more than an aspect of life on Earth.
Life unfolds, and that is it. The worst that can happen is that life does not unfold as you say it ought to. You may say that I am at fault and therefore you make yourself a victim. A victim of what? A victim of your own interpretations. You attribute blame to a series of natural events in the extant world. You find fault. Too often, way too often, you affix blame on Me. You say, in effect, that I am not fair. Life is fair, beloveds. Death of the body comes to everyone, rich or poor, young or old. Perhaps it is unfair of you to affix blame. Period.
Open your heart now, and keep it wide open. Tragedy exists in your mind. It is a story told with flourishes of great drama told magnificently, the story embellished. It feels real yet it misses the point by a mile.