From Puff to Love. (3 min 42 sec)

Let’s start with Sean. Say it out loud — Sean. You can’t rush it. The name itself asks you to pause, breathe, let it roll off your tongue. There’s something soft about it, melodic even, like a gentle wave. Now think about a comb, running through hair, untangling knots. That’s what Sean Combs does— he combs through life, through the layers, sorting it all out. Boots on, well-worn leather, walking through the brush of this world, cleaning out the tangles.

And then there’s Puffy. Sounds fun, right? Almost fluffy. Like it’s light, harmless, like clouds that never have to worry about a storm. It plays to the young, to the ones still caught up in the game of image, of self-inflation. Puffy is all about blowing up the ego, puffing it up like a balloon, big and shiny for the world to see. But what happens to a balloon when you puff it up too much? Exactly. It pops.

Now, drop the Y. You’re left with Puff. Now, we’re not playing anymore. Puff is grown-up. Puff is smoke-filled rooms, cigars, joints, secrets shared in the shadows. Puff carries weight, the adult kind, where the fun starts to feel like an escape rather than a celebration. The puff of the ego trying to hide the emptiness inside. In ACIM, the ego puffs itself up to distract from the one thing it can’t face — love. Love is its undoing.

Now, let's step into P. Diddy. You can hear the jiggle in it, can’t you? It’s fun, playful, like a dance beat in the background of a club. The kids eat it up, but drop the P and what are you left with? Diddy. Now we’re stepping into the night. This is where the grown-ups play. Diddy isn’t about puffing yourself up. It’s about indulging, taking in the moment. It’s deeper, but it’s still ego. Still a show. Diddy knows how to dance around the truth, but never confronts it.

And where does it all land? Love. You can’t play these games forever. Eventually, you get tired. The ego wears itself out — after all the names, the personas, the roles you play, you realize there’s nowhere left to go but love. In ACIM, that’s the end of the line. You drop the masks, the puffed-up personas, and you recognize that all there ever was, is, and will be is love.

But here’s where it gets tricky. You choose love, but the world? It’s still stuck. Stuck on judgment. Stuck on hate. Stuck on the need to point fingers. The world needs a villain, a scapegoat, someone to crucify. So while you’re sitting at the mountaintop, eyes wide open, basking in love, the world below is sharpening its daggers. It’s funny, though, how the saints doing the judging never remember that they were sinners once too. They don’t see that when they point one finger, four are pointing back at them. They think that one finger is strong enough to block out the truth of those four that scream, “This is you too!”

The ego thrives on separation. It’s the master illusionist. It wants us to forget that Sean, Puffy, P. Diddy, and Love — they’re all reflections of the same mind. They’re all the masks we wear to hide the fact that we are all puffed up versions of the same false self. The self we believe in is just a construct, a tangled web of judgments. When I judge you, I’m only judging the part of me that I refuse to see. The ego loves that game.

But if we drop the act, if we stop puffing ourselves up and pointing fingers, we’re left with love. Love is what remains when the illusion crumbles. The ego doesn’t stand a chance when love is realized.

So, you see, when you choose love, you’re not playing the ego’s game anymore. You’ve dropped all the Ys and the Ps, stripped it down to its core. But here's where the rubber meets the road? You don’t just see love in yourself — you start to see it in everyone else. Even in the ones still puffing themselves up. Even in the ones pointing fingers. Because once you’ve reached love, there’s nowhere else to go. And maybe — just maybe — that’s the joke the world has forgotten to laugh at. The joke’s on the ego, and we’ve been in on it the whole time.

#thinkgod
I am sorry.
Please forgive me.
Thank you.
I love you.