If I think I have a past at all, it’s because I am stuck in a dream.
So if I think I am regretful, angry or sad about something that HAPPENED, I’m having a nightmare.
I am innocently out of my mind.
Nothing bad has ever happened to me or because of me or to or because of anyone else.
Ever.
I’m just in a story. And the story is running off with my imagination.
That’s all.
I’m okay.
I’ve always been okay.
I’ve never been this person.
I am dreaming.
Dreaming.
This story will fall away.
As all stories do.
I can fret and fret and fret over it and this innocent invented past will never be True. It’s just a backstory written by an ego that has never existed just so it can pretend to be somebody.
There’s no one actually here.
What I really am is a perfect, quiet, loving calmness.
Which has nothing to do with this dream that ego made up.
I can be peaceful and see my whole apparent existence for what it really is:
Nothing.
Nothing.
Beautiful nothing.
(…and not even that.)