In this incantation, I describe the subtle magic of awakening into a reality I now understand as a narrative field—something I generate, not something I passively enter. I explore how language, memory, and belief form the semi-rigid structure of this field, shaping every sensation and story I live within. My prayers become spells, and the right words act as keys to clarity, revealing that everything I perceive is built from what I choose to remember and believe. The deeper I go, the more I glimpse the moment before the story begins—the instant when I still hold the pen.
Each morning, I awaken with a subtle sense that I’m getting closer. Closer to understanding what this all is. The seams are starting to show—small glitches in the pattern, little cracks in the façade that once looked seamless. I see now how it is held together.
Every morning, I pray, and my prayers take the form of incantations—spoken words, written words, carefully chosen words aimed at understanding. Because my speech itself is a kind of magic; language is the wand. The right words, when spoken aloud or whispered within, unlock knowledge, clarity, and understanding. The wrong ones? They confuse, disorient, and keep me blind to the truth of where I am, what this place is, and who I am becoming.
But when I speak the right words—when I find them—it feels like cutting through fog with a blade of light. It feels like magic. Abracadabra.
Once I begin to see the shape of this awakening—once the words align—the stitching becomes visible. The façade begins to fray. And I can see the mechanics of what’s underneath. And what is there? A system. A field. A narrative field. That’s the first thing to understand. When I awaken, I do not simply “wake up.” I generate a narrative field. It grows outward from a center—me. And it is exactly what it sounds like: a great, sprawling story. A reality made entirely of interwoven storylines full of characters, places, sensations, desires, colors, lights, and more.
The first and most foundational of these stories is that I am a man, awakening into a world of other men and people, other places, other lives. From that seed story, others multiply: I am a man who was born in America, who left and came to India. I have a company. I’m building something important. I want this because I once wanted that. This thing happened to me, and that’s why I am like this.
One after another, stories bloom. Stories stacked on stories, nested within still more stories. They give shape to everything—what I see, what I feel, what I expect. Everything I encounter is formed by this narrative field. Everything is embedded inside this ever-growing mesh. And this field is held together by something. It’s not rigid, not fixed, but it has structure. Like cartilage. Semi-rigid. Flexible, but firm enough to give shape. The cartilage of this field—its connective tissue—is made up of two things: memories and beliefs.
This is the structure of my now; my present presence. My one and only actual moment. There is only ever now. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. But my now is shaped—entirely—by what I remember and what I believe. And here’s the abracadabra… I can remember whatever I choose. I can believe whatever I choose.
Did that thing happen? Maybe. Maybe not. If I choose to believe it did, then—functionally—it did. If I decide to remember it, then it becomes part of my cartilage, part of the structure holding together my narrative field. If I believe that this person I am interacting with now is a friend, then I will disarm and behave toward him as a friend. If, in a moment, I decide he is an enemy, my entire behavior changes. My now is formed not by what happened, but by what I agree happened; what I believe happened. That agreement is a magical act. I am choosing the memory. I am choosing the belief. And by doing so, I shape my field.
This is how the narrative field works. I don’t wake into reality—I generate one. I project it, and then I sustain and nurture it with memory and conviction. And now that I see this, I can begin to reshape it. Strategically. Deliberately. The same way a scientist can alter a magnetic field by understanding its properties, I can alter this field and my life and my world by understanding the structures that hold it all together.
That is the true meaning of abracadabra: “I create as I speak.” And I do. But there’s something even deeper I’m starting to glimpse. When I can detach from the narrative—withdraw backward from it—and see that it is, in fact, a field, something I generate, I can begin to manipulate it. I create the story—the narrative—the instant before I awaken. That story writes itself, or rather, I write it. And once it’s written, I must play the part I’ve written for myself that day. So I’m trying to catch it. I’m trying to pause in my pre-awakening, at the very moment the story is being written. To catch the act itself. To see the pen in my hand. To glimpse how I’m writing it.
It happens instantly—or at least it feels instant from the perspective of my waking self. But I don’t believe it’s actually instant. I believe it only seems that way because I am still uncertain about the mechanics of how I write the story, how the narrative field is formed. So I’m trying to reach back further, into that sliver of time before time—before the “I” even awakens—to study it. Because if I can understand that moment… If I can see how I write it… Then I can change it.
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