There is no possibility of accurately counting hours I squandered mourning ‘what might have been’. The sea of possibility used to nearly drown me. Very little life in the present happens while wandering about in one’s history. Making sense of what never made sense is as futile as flapping one’s arms attempting to get airborne. How did I become more present? By teaching the child within to grow up with self-guidance like a good parent consistently gives. When I drifted into playing in the past, I repeatedly with love told myself: “stop doing that”, “you’re going to hurt yourself” or something stronger like “stop it”. The process is no different from how as a child I was taught to say “please and thank you”: repetition and consistency of the message.
There is no relationship
between what is real
and what you think is real.
“A Course in Miracles”
