In this incantation, I reflect on how imagination shapes my experience, determining what I can easily manifest and what requires greater effort. I liken this process to a sorcerer casting spells, with my imagination and actions intertwined to bring desires into reality. However, I recognize that certain imagined things remain unattainable, highlighting the tension between what I can create and what remains confined to the realm of fiction.
If my imagination lies at the source of every aspect of my experience, why is it that sometimes I can transform my imagination into solid, physical spaces and objects in my outerself? For instance, I cannot directly experience my kitchen in this moment because it isn’t currently observable, yet it’s my imagination that confirms its existence. Similarly, I can imagine my company growing into a successful organization, but the difference is that this vision requires much more time, effort, and planning to manifest than simply getting out of bed and walking into the kitchen to prepare food. Walking into the kitchen is inevitable—it will always happen with minimal effort. However, manifesting a successful company is uncertain; it demands a greater degree of coordination and may never come to fruition. Then, there are the purely fictional creations, like Middle-Earth from Tolkien’s novels, which I can imagine but will always remain abstract, confined to the realm of fiction with no potential for manifestation.
After reflecting on the power of my imagination, I see that the degree of effort required to manifest something corresponds directly to the amount of movement I must undergo to make it tangible. I often think of this in terms of a sorcerer casting magical words and incantations to make things happen, to change the world—but that’s just a shorthand for what I do every day, with every awakening. I don’t just speak or wave my hands; I coordinate, plan, manage, and execute. That sorcerer is me, but the spells I cast have grown far beyond simple words or gestures. They now extend into all the textures and formations in my awakening, requiring all parts of my body and mind. Yet the end result remains the same: I manifest what I seek.
Time, too, is linked to effort. Everything I truly want is right here, right now and anything that requires time or space to capture is not really what I seek. If I could fully accept that truth, I would never awaken and search again. I would never need to manifest again. Manifestation itself is an illness, a kind of disease that compels me to move, to act, to bring something I want into being that I believe I need but don’t have. The more and the bigger I want, the further away it seems in time, space, and effort. Effort, time, distance, and degree are different expressions of the same illness that prevents me from ending my awakening.
My imagination is a spectrum, like everything else in my awakening. There is the part of the spectrum that I actively manifest every awakening with great ease, such as my small cottage and the outside around it. Some things are achievable with greater effort, because they are simply further away in time and space. Like climbing a distant mountain. But there’s a whole class of imaginary objects I have classified as unachievable, fictional, unreal, and unobtainable. By their very definition—the definitions I have given them—they cannot be mine. They exist in my mind, but they are not part of the world I can manifest. The part of my imagination that cannot directly manifest into my outerself is the cusp of my creative apparatus. As such, it curves inward and extinguishes rather than taking root in the fertile soil of my thirdself. It’s like the edge of a flame, where the heat dwindles and can no longer ignite.
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