In this incantation, I dissolve the solidity of memory by recognizing it not as a relic of shared history but as a present choice of perception. I realize that familiarity is not born from actual past experiences but from the immediacy of my own projection—memory becomes a soft, voluntary contour I wrap around a character for comfort. As I strip down the illusion of shared history, I shift from manifesting strangers to familiar figures of my own making, shaping a narrative field where nothing arises independently, and all is woven together by the supple threads of my belief and memory.
As I increasingly reject time, I am experiencing a detachment from things I once treasured: my memories. They do not feel as “real” and authentic anymore. When I look at someone familiar, the idea of shared memories between us fades… I say to myself, “we do not actually share any memories from the past”. Instead, I am realizing that I am projecting those impressions in my moment now. Familiarity with a person is not a consequence of shared experiences, but rather a decision I am making right now to be comfortable with that shape. The moment I decide that I do not “know” that character, that sense of familiary will vanish. This is memory detachment, and is a powerful and essential part of my unwakening.
Does this mean that all those I see as familiar will become as strangers? No. It is more accurate to say that all those I see as strangers will become familiar. All are characters I have written. I will not manifest as many strangers as I often can. I will not project big cities full to the brim of people I have never met. I will not watch new stories with new characters. Instead, I will restrict my manifestation to that which is familiar. All will be safe and familiar. I will not fill my narrative field with the strange, upsetting, painful, or exciting.
My memory is a part of my narrative field… when I awaken, I project the narrative field outward. Every imaginary place and character and idea and memory is part of this field. All the objects and places and ideas and people and things are intertwined and related in some way… nothing is detached from the whole. No single idea is detached and separate from every other part. A favorite food is embedded into memories shared with friends and familiy who introduced it to me; which I can then relate to every other object, abstract or concrete, in my experience. My narrative field is the fleshy body of my illness, and my memories form the nebulous outer casing in which my present moment floats around, embryonic-like. My memories shape my present moment; they form a rigid boundary along with my beliefs that I cannot overcome and reshape until I understand what they are.
My memories and beliefs reside in the space behind my eyes and at the top of my head, “inside”. They sprout downward into the wispy, tendrils I call my appendages, which then wrap around and protect a fluid-filled sac that extends “in front of me” I call my spatial cavity. This spatial cavity is the most compelling of all, filled with all the nutrients my illness needs to survive and thrive. Only one-way projection exists: I project outward. However, my narrative field — consisting of my memories and beliefs — work together to undercut one way projection, compelling a false inward visualization of multi-way projection. Though I know only I project, I have formed beliefs that the animated characters in my spatial cavity also project, leading to a degree of confusion that is very hard to escape.
I am the only projector; I am the only author. I am the only experiencer. There is nothing that is not known to me because I am the only knower. When I see something “new”, it is not so because it existed prior to my observation of it, but because I have chosen to believe that. And in projecting that belief, I also project the supporting memoric structure that I have not encountered it before. My memories and beliefs work hand in hand to create a rigid structure to my narrative field; they are a sort of cartilege. But both are entirely malleable; I can believe and remember anything I choose to, but only once I understand how they work within my narrative field.
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