Authority in triself

In my awakening I know that something is wrong, but I do not know what it is. By “wrong”, I mean that I have misunderstood something important, and mischaracterized the nature of my being. I know at some deep level that who I think I am, and who I actually am are two different things. This disconnect persists as a constant dissatisfaction; a desire to know. And the actions and behaviors and expressions toward that end: my search.

I awaken into a world, then spend all my energy here trying to minimize my suffering. I ask many questions, searching for the answer. Why does it hurt? Why am I here? What is this place? Where am I? What am I supposed to do? But the pain I feel is oblivious to these questions. And these questions will never return the answers I seek for they do not allow me to get my fingers under the delusion enveloping my being like a parasite. I must first recognize this delusion and rip it from my face to see the truth I remember.

The delusion manifests when I awaken and accept that I am here. I am here, and I want the things that are out here. I want to eat well, work meaningfully, build wealth, live comfortably, and leave a legacy behind. What I do not realize is that every single thing I desire in my awakening is a product of the delusion. I have created this world I awaken into. I have written its characters, events, and places, defined its values, and created the authorities who run it. Then I closed my eyes, forgot I was the author, and chose to live in my story.

One of my earliest memories was wanting to be an author. I wrote fantastical stories of an imaginary land of mythical creatures, magic, legends, and heroes. At some point I stopped wanting to be an author and wanted, instead, the things of the world I awoke into: achievement, wealth, and status. What happened?

I wanted to be an author, because I was the author. I had written all the characters of my story: my mother, my father, my brothers, my friends, and my life as I experienced it. But by the time I expressed that I wanted to be an author, I had already forgotten that I was the author. The truth of my authorship had slipped away, and only the memory remained, manifesting as a desire for that which I had lost. Losing my authorship, I sought to escape by writing another story.

When I forgot that I was the author, I joined the story I had written as one of its characters. I ignored the reality that I was clearly different than the other characters in my story. I was a being of extreme depth and infinite dimension, who had the power to create this world I woke up into. The characters in my story were merely one-dimensional shapes moving about on the walls of my existence. I forgot that these characters were only there because I had put them there.

My delusion grew, reaching its zenith when I gave away my authority to distant characters I could only imagine. Powerful people and institutions of the past and present who I would never meet or question. Authorities who would tell me what to think and how to think. Once I accepted the frameworks of these one-dimensional characters within my story, I was trapped. These characters that only existed in the imagination of my secondself were the wardens of the story I had written that had become my prison. Through them I could never understand who I truly was. I could never understand that I had created them. I was trapped in a swirling eddy; every answer was a left turn, leading me back to where I had just come from.

I am the author. It is me who wakes up and emanates this entire existence I call the world. The authorities of my thirdself draw me into a state of reduced self-awareness I call uniself; that I am just one observer of billions, rather than the author of the entire existence. To enter triself — the state of complete self-awareness — I must withdraw my conviction from any authority which originates in my thirdself, and reinvest it into my firstself.

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