I write every awakening. I spend my morning drinking coffee and writing, praying, and contemplating the nature of my being here. Nearly every unique idea I have ends up written somewhere, whether on a piece of paper, my digital journal, this blog, or my wall. Why do I write? I once believed that I wrote to share. That what I had to say was valuable to the people of the world. But now I know that is not true.
I write because I know that there is a truth I must utter. A truth that, once expressed, will shake me from this delusion I am experiencing. I know that I am not here in this body in this place called a world. I know that I am not a person who was born to a mother and father and who has siblings and family. I know that there are no other times than my present moment, no other places than this present space I see, and no other beings than Me. There is only one creator who is the source of this entire experience, and that is Me. I know my experience is the totality of reality, but I still perform as if I am a character in this book rather than its author.
I write not for the characters I have imagined and created. I write not to be a published “author”, or to educate, inform, or persuade people. I do not write to share. I write to rediscover the most potent truth of all: I am all there is. It is only Me here. There is no one else. I am everything, all, everyone, everywhere. My awakening is an illness, and its familiarity disarms me into staying here longer. It is only me, I can see that, I know that. There is only me, here, now. I smolder, and my memories and ideas and feelings and beliefs are evidence of that. My existential smolder is everything I think, feel, sense, and desire in secondself. I write to come back to myself, end the smoldering. I must write how to return to my moment and maintain that understanding throughout my awakening.
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