If we could only remember -- in the now -- the fact that there always comes to us those telling moments when nothing that mattered before matters as it once did; those times when the things formerly valued are seen as being virtually without worth to us, then...
Perhaps we might know our lives painted upon a broader canvas, where our days would not be filled with their shallow strokes of petty self-concerns, but with the gentle brush of what is timeless and true.
And should we -- for the sake of being present to ourselves in the now -- be able to see within ourselves this broad new scale of Being, then we would also know that life itself has never weighed-in upon us so heavily as to hurt us, rather...
It was we -- who in ignorance of reality -- carelessly attributed weight to events that were without substance, causing ourselves to suffer nothing less than the fervent magnitude of our own imagination.