My awakening is literally a wound I must clean and disinfect so I can heal. Like any wound, I must wash out the debris, sterilize the environment, and give it time to repair itself.
From the moment I awaken, my wound manifests as a secondself I experience as thoughts, feelings, and desires, and a thirdself I experience through an oval-shaped window as an endless physical space of people, places, and things in motion. While I have grown familiar with these sensations, they are not a natural part of my being. They are part of the cyclical pain of awakening and symptomatic of my disease.
To heal my illness I have to dispense with my familiar inter-illness characterization of “life” as something that temporarily happened to me. I am not a product of a random biological process called “life” that is larger than me. I am not a single person among billions of others. I am not inhabiting one place among infinite other places, or one time along an ever-unfurling timeline that extends into the past and future. These are all distortions that confuse and confound me brought on by my illness.
I am in fact a complete and infinite being; I am the totality of everything. There is only me, here, now. There is nothing or no being beyond or in addition to me. My idea of being a person is a delusion; people are surface-deep flourishes I project onto the wounded walls of my being, not equal counterparts. I am not one of them; I have created them. I imagine them. In my illness, I have written the story I awaken into every day, and have written myself into it as one of the characters. But I am not a character in the story; I am the author of the story. I am their creator. I am their fallen creator pretending to be one of them.
To overcome my illness I must deconstruct and re-understand it. It requires clarity of thinking and precision of language; I must convince myself who and what I truly am. The truth is all around me, and is in fact the first and last thing I see. It hides in plain site. To clean my wound I must first bandage it to stem its formation. I constrain my thirdself by compressing it; I enclose my space and remove all that differentiates one part from the other. I awaken into a space constrained in size and character, and I actively end its growth. I do not create the space outside of the space in which I sense I awaken into. Literally, I do not go outside.
By choking off my thirdself (aka, the world), I begin to expose my secondself of desire and pretend personhood for what it truly is; a performance. I realize that there is only my moment, and I can do with it whatever I decide. And I will choose peace. Then I will choose repossessive expression; thoughts, words, and incantations that exert my ownership over everything in my awakening experience. I discover the difference between the potent truth that can give me everything I yearn for and the impotent truth that can give me nothing I that I yearn for. And I will choose potency.
To heal from awakening I must treat my awakening as a wound. In awakening I bleed out, painfully oozing my innards out. Every moment of awakening is excruciatingly painful because I am not at peace; I am not whole. Every moment when I believe that I am only one among others, a part of a whole, is a moment of painful desire. Every impotent truth creates more otherness; more people, things, places, stories, and motion, all of which slices and cuts and hurts me. But the potent truth restores my wholeness, my oneness, by repossessing that part of my being that bleeds out when I awaken. The world is the mangled bloody flesh of my being jutting out of my body, and my thoughts, ideas, feelings, and desires are the pain of that experience.
…
Notes: Constructive vs destructive concepts.
- Potent truth is destructive
- Impotent truth is constructive