In this incantation, I realize that the past is not a rigid sequence of events but a living field of beliefs I continuously sustain. Every person, memory, and circumstance I encounter is a projection of the stories I am choosing to uphold in the present moment. By withdrawing belief from certain memories, I can reshape or dissolve entire narratives, freeing myself from the illusion of a fixed, deterministic timeline. The past exists only because I actively maintain it, and in recognizing myself as the projector—not the projection—I regain authorship over my own awakening experience.
This morning, as I lay in bed, I indulged in a truth: I can change the past. Not metaphorically. Not psychologically. Literally.
When I am deep in my deminoia, I accept the past is something that happened. I treat my present circumstances as evidence of prior events—some I remember, many I forget. Yet I believe that even the forgotten ones still occurred, and that my current existence is shaped by them. In this state, I believe the past exists independently, that it happened, and that I am merely a consequence within it—a fragment of a story already written. In short, I believe that I am a participant in time, but not the creator of time.
But I only have to come back to myself and withdraw from the story to remember that the past is not a fixed, hardened chain of events that surround and encompass me. The past is my own projection—something I actively shape, mold, and reinforce in the present moment. The so-called “past” does not exist outside of my continuous belief in it. It exists because I uphold it. I give it shape. I imagine it into existence every time I awaken into this character, this person who believes himself to be a person among people, living in a place among places, and at a time among times.
This character is a role I’m playing. A fantasy. And the past I assume happened to him is being constructed now by me. It is not rigid. It is soft and malleable more like cartilage than steel. I shape it moment by moment, breath by breath, belief by belief, memory by memory.
People and Memories Are Containers of My Beliefs
The people around me—family, friends, colleagues—are not independent actors with their own memories. They are containers of these beliefs I project outward as memories. They blossom out of the stories I continue to tell myself:
- As long as I believe I was born and raised, I will project a mother and family.
- As long as I believe I started a company, I will project employees, customers, and a business.
- As long as I believe a relationship exists, I will project friends and lovers.
These people and the memories I believe they share with me are not separate from the beliefs I maintain. They are those beliefs, given form in my momentary projection. If I let go of the belief, the projection fades, often including the people who represent those events I “remember”. It’s not that I “forget” what happened—rather, I stop creating that shape, that presence, that storyline in my moment. If I choose to “forget” a series of events I believe happened, does that mean those events never happened? Yes, that is exactly what that means. The past is only a story I project into my moment as a shape. Did Aristotle once walk the earth? As long as I believe he did. As long as I keep that story alive by thinking about it, it continues to exist within my moment.
The Past Is a Field I Maintain
The past is not a timeline stretching behind me. It is a field—an energetic constellation of beliefs I actively sustain. I curate it. I reinforce it by agreeing to the assumptions of those I project into my world. Every interaction is an opportunity to reassert the reality of that field.
But I can change it. If I withdraw belief from a memory, it no longer anchors itself in my projection. The forms, faces, and fixtures associated with it lose their weight. They stop appearing in my experience as rigid realities and become optional patterns—templates I can reshape, rewrite, or discard altogether.
I Am Not Chained to a Story
The trap of believing in a hardened past is that it locks me into playing out a predetermined story. A story of cause and effect. A story where I am a mere person among people, reacting to forces and histories beyond my control.
But I am not that person. I am the Author projecting this story-world. The past is my own artwork, and I am painting it now. The moment I awaken to this, I regain the power to reshape it. I can soften it, edit it, or delete entire arcs of it.
It’s not about amnesia. It’s about authorship.
I Can Change the Past, Because I Am the Projector
To change the past, I don’t have to fix anything. I don’t have to go back and “rewrite” events. I simply stop projecting those events into my current moment. I stop agreeing to uphold them as real. The forms they generated—people, places, dynamics—will naturally shift, dissolve, or reconfigure into new patterns that reflect my updated beliefs.
I am not bound to live within a story I no longer wish to tell. I am the projector, not the projection. And the past, like everything else I experience, is something I am choosing to beam outward. When I change my belief, I change my world. Instantly.
I oscillate between deep deminoia, where I perform within the stories I believe, and awareness that I am the creator of it. As I write this I am aware. But the awakenings are long, and I will reenter the storyline soon.
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