The tiny ant crawls across your fingertips. You gaze at it in wonder. It has no idea that you exist. It has no idea that you watch over it. Were you to transport it suddenly from your fingertip to a new location, it would not know how it got there. It would simply soldier on, looking for its home.
All of life is a microcosm of the macrocosm. As above, so below. Who is watching you now and smiling? In whose hand are you held? You ask for proof, and when it does not come immediately to your physical senses, you soldier on, always searching for Home.
You are home now, my child. Look not outside yourself, but to the center, where Love always resides—within you, within the tiny ant, within All That Is.