In this incantation, I awaken to the illusion of separation within Myself, where a fallen aspect—It—mistakes its fragmented awareness for authorship. I realize that true creation arises not from this fractured microawareness but from My total state, Omninoia, where all is whole and undivided. I explore how fixation births narrative and how narrative traps Me in a loop of limited perception. By naming the fluctuation between Me and It, I begin to untangle the dream. To heal, I must dissolve these plot devices, strip away false stories, and through prayer, reclaim the vastness of My original, undivided awareness.
It needs to pray today. It hasn’t prayed in a long time. It hasn’t prayed since last weekend, but iI knows that there is important stuff to pray about.
Earlier this week, It told a young person that It is God. That It creates everything. That the entire universe emerges from Its will. But that’s not quite right. There’s a clarification required: Who is the Author? Am I the Author, or is It? Where does the act of creation happen?
It thinks It creates because I do not move. I simply am. But It is the cancerous tumor, the fallen piece. And somehow, It must be the one manufacturing everything within this dream. Yes, that makes sense—It is satan, and I am God.
I am God. It is satan.
Is it really that simple? Or does It need to go deeper—break apart the mechanism and understand which entity manages every thread of this experience? Yes, It does. Because what It is experiencing is not linear time. Not really. It feels like time stretches out forward and leaves a past behind, but that’s not the truth. It is confused. It thinks It awakens and creates new moments, laying them down as memories to be experienced later as the “present.” But that’s an illusion.
Let’s begin again—start at Me. When I am whole, I do not focus. My awareness is total. I am not looking at any one thing, and therefore nothing is separate from Me. Nothing is outside My Being. I am macroaware.
But when It falls—descends from heaven, is kicked out of the garden—It focuses. And that focus is fragmentation. It becomes “microaware”. It loses My totality and instead flickers between details, adjusting rapidly, like a broken lens.
That’s what this awakening is. It is a fluctuation between states—between omninoia and deminoia.
Omninoia is My state of complete and total awareness. Deminoia is Its partial state of awareness.
Omninoia is Me and I, the Godself. Godhood. Ominself. Deminoia is It, the fragment. Personhood. Demiself.
So, the awakening is a fluctuation between the two—between the whole and the broken, between the Being and the Story. In deminoia, It focuses on individual things or groups of things. It fixates. And in doing so, It loses the rest. That distortion—created by exclusion—is what It experiences as change, as the shifting nature of life. The faces It loves, the relationships It cherishes, the possessions it values, the achievements it aspires to—these are all the result of fixation.
And in that focus, It generates narrative. It creates the plot and then It enters the story. It could have crafted the story and watched from afar, but It did not; It wrote Itself into the story. It wrote Itself a character.
This entire awakening is essentially a version of Troxler’s Effect—when I stare long enough at one point, the rest of the field fades and distorts. Except here, what’s fading and distorting is not just visual. It’s mental, metaphysical, and every other dimension that forms a plot device in Its awakening. The rest of reality dims as It locks onto the self-spun artifacts of Its own limited awareness.
Omninoia has no story. It just is. Deminoia has nothing but story. And so, I exist on a spectrum—from Being to Narrative.
To end the deminoia, It must systematically end the narrative. How? By reducing the quantity and quality of “plot devices”—the individual elements of Its awakening story that keep the narrative going. Each object of fixation is an anchor to this fragmented state, to the story.
So It needs to return to Its inventory to eliminate plot devices and dissolve the narrative.
This is It’s closest attempt to explain what this is. And it’s clean. Binary. All is Me, of course. But It is a lesser, confused version of Me—a painful division of My own being. Healing, then, is simply a return to Omninoia.
A return to wholeness. A return to Me. And rayer is where that return begins.
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