When suddenly -- through a sense of similarity -- I'm made present to some positive, uplifting quality outside and within myself, I am happy. I lend myself to it without doubt. But in moments I am introduced to something negative inside myself by an event that I don't want, I have to find a reason for it being there.

Stuff I like, I don't need reasons for. Stuff I don't like, I need reasons for. And so, the same denying nature that resists the similarity, then begins to try to reconcile the pain produced by my resistance to it. This is what is called "thinking through the problem." If there's pain, and the pain is something outside of me -- seemingly having nothing to do with my own nature -- I must then reconcile this pain. I have to figure out why I feel the way I do. And then this mind finds endless reasons: "Of course you're in pain; Of course you're angry; Of course you're depressed; Look at this!"

Your pain, whatever it may be, is simply a representation of some greater cycle that is suddenly brought into your life to reveal similarity in qualities, not to punish you. Up to now, the only thing that's taken place inside of you has been a process of instantaneous separation from the similarity revealed. That separation is produced by resistance, and resistance guarantees repetition and that you will remain stuck to the thing you resist.

So what's the alternative? You begin to understand that in such moments you can agree to redeem the quality, the character, that you not only didn't know was there but that you don't want there. And what does it mean to "redeem" it? It means to understand that the experience of the thing you don't want is not proof of dissimilarity. See, you think that when it comes to anger, fear, or grief, "I have no similarity with that! That's why I resist it!" No. The only reason you know that quality is because of similarity, else you couldn't know it! True redemption is in the moment you agree to the similarity and are united by taking back possession of the thing that is similar inside of you that you never could understand or accept.

So, "I buy you back." But it isn't "I" that buys it back. It's Love that buys it back. "I buy you back; I take you back" is the story of The Prodigal Son returning home. But to buy it back costs a pretty penny, doesn't it? Because in order to buy it back, you have to stand inwardly in the place where this similarity has been revealed, and instead of the pain of the dissimilarity that you feel (and, by the way, the pain you feel in those moments is not due to what your mind is telling you), you buy it back.

This means instead of suffering what you don't want, you suffer the fact of the similarity for the sake of Love. Instead of suffering the unconscious dissimilarity that your mind tells you exists between yourself and the state you don't want, you consciously suffer the similarity that Love has revealed and that Love then integrates. Love takes that nature, that quality, and shows you that the thing you don't want, that nature appearing there, has always existed so that it could be turned into something new and true, something useful and not hateful.

But to do that, to be redeemed, requires conscious suffering, requires a sacrifice. No sacrifice, no redemption. Why? Because the sacrifice is you yielding up the self that resists, that believes it's dissimilar to the character that's been revealed -- that whole sense of self that exists solely for the purpose of appearing in those moments when some pain comes to prove that it's not your pain and has nothing to do with your character. It's serving to reveal to you a beautiful process by which invisible and visible can work together to produce inside of you a reunification. Heaven and earth meet. You fulfill your purpose through redemption, by becoming the instrument and material of redemption.

How do we agree to this? Because nothing else has worked so far. Our resistance to pain clings to it; it does not want to give up the pain. So how do we buy back what we're given by something that doesn't want to sell it?

If one had ears to hear, they would begin to hear something that has been speaking since the beginning of time with a very distinct message, whose purpose serves the possibility and the fulfillment of redemption. Truth is always saying, I want you to be still.

What does stillness have to do with the discovery of similarity and the redemption that comes through it as a result of dying to this denying self? Be still and see that which you can only see through stillness. Be still and don't push away the anger. Be still in the presence of the anger. Be still in the face of the fear. Be still in the face of the ambition. Be still, because if you are still, you will understand that moment has brought together something only for you -- to show you the character that exists to have that revelation. And in the revelation of that character -- and you being willing to stand there inwardly, present to that character -- the redemption takes place. Because now you have said (even though you may not know it), "Not my will but Thy will be done." And what is "Thy will"? God is love. What is His will? The action of Love. What is the action of Love? Redemption -- the redeeming of one's character.

But do understand, it's not actually your character or my character. It's this level of consciousness that we are all the instrument of that knows nothing of itself. And because it knows nothing of itself, fights with itself believing that the parts of itself it resists prove a difference. But the opposite is true: Resistance proves similarity.

If there's an exercise inherent in this understanding, it's that in the moment of any agitation, fear, or doubt, learn to go as still as you can so you can see that it isn't dissimilarity -- meaning "I'm not that; this shouldn't be that way" -- but that the moment has brought about the possibility of seeing perfect similarity, and in perfect similarity, the observer and the observed disappear. Love unites. Choose in favor of that.