When I preach the gospel to the crucified people I meet on the streets, I hold hands and say little beyond, "Know who you really are. Infinitely loved, infinitely precious." Nothing else matters, truth be told.
I used to believe that to be "Saved" was to hand yourself over into the care of a deity, who would then make sure everything worked out for you, especially after you died. I am so glad that I never, as far as I know, convinced anyone. It simple didn't occur to me to realise that a cosmos in which the vast majority of conscious beings ( a much more satisfactory term than 'human' beings) were condemned to hell fire, made absolutely no sense at all. In fact, at no time, ever, did I actually believe this, much less pass it on. The mystery I still call God, simply wouldn't do such a thing, and I know this, or I know nothing.
I used to joke about that: knowing nothing, I mean, though I didn't really believe it. I was proud of my achievements: overcoming a set of fairly minor obstacles to become a reasonably successful professional became my identity. My story.
One day, I was telling my story, when I woke up. It was that sudden. Somehow, possibly out of sheer boredom, that who I really am flooded into Being, and I stopped.
I don't tell the old stories any more. I am just here, experiencing a raw, splendid and joyous existence,, so vivid, so different from the pedestrian me tied to the past, trying to make a future ... The Kingdom of Heaven is how one teacher put it, is here, now and within.
Well, yes, I'm still grumpy, selfish and unreasonable, still capable of monumental foolishness. This too, is who I really am. Infinitely loved, infinitely precious. Not the stories I tell about myself. Just me.
This post was prompted by Dr David Parrish's book: "Enlightenment Made East: Discovering The Obvious" It's free with Kindle. Which makes it amazing value
You can't become what you already are. That's about it, really. You either get it, and stop telling a story, and start living a life, or you don't Simples.