No anger about how the world was structured. No need to be part of it either. No need to listen to anybody, please anybody, hear anybody or even respond. There was no compulsive need to be right all the time.
There was also no need to define right and wrong.
There was endless space, vast and airy, blue and light. There was wind, there was fire. There was the fragrance of fresh bread. There was the gentle tinkling of wind chimes. There was the happy, distant laughter on a television set. There was the sound of water splashing into a half-filled bucket. There was the sound of a kitchen timer going off. There was also the gentle hint of rain in the breeze that just touched her cheek.
In this one perfect moment, when she was home, brewing herself a humble cup of coffee, there was nothing wrong with the world. She remembered nothing. There was no identity. She had no name. Nothing to go back to and nothing to look forward to either except the perfection of this moment, stretching into infinity.
Forgetting identities. The biggest secret of happiness.