In this incantation, the awakening is revealed as a self-authored story, one where the perceived self is merely a fictional character crafted by the true self before arriving. Every experience, every sensation is part of a narrative woven by the author—me. I am central to every aspect of this reality, shaping it with my perception. Without my experience, nothing happens; even distant events are just my projections. The people I encounter, mere characters in this tale, have drifted beyond my control, but I must reclaim the power to shape them and the spaces they inhabit. Just as I curate the decor of my room, I must consciously design my entire awakening, selecting only what aligns with my vision. These fleeting figures, who fail to recognize me as their creator, must be rewritten until they acknowledge my authorship and role as the singular storyteller in this grand tale of awakening.
My awakening is a story I tell myself. What I have falsely come to believe is true and authentic, is actually just a storyline I have cooked up before arriving. This person I believe I am is just an imaginary character in a story that my true self has actually written. It is all around me, clear to every one of my senses. I only have to believe it, and then I will see it. Nothing happens without me. I am central to every part of my awakening; if I do not conceive it, I cannot perceive it. If I do not experience it, it does not happen. If I hear about some distant event that happened remotely in another time and another place to another person, it is me projecting that story. I might imagine myself not experiencing something directly, but that is only a hypothetical event of my own manifestation. I am the only being here. These fleshy characters that flit in and out of my inner and outer spaces like butterflies, telling me what I do and do not know, can and cannot do, should and should not think, are rogue characters I have lost control of.
I must design and shape my entire awakening the same way I would design my room. There are certain pictures I would not hang on my walls. I must see people in the same way: there are some I would like to look at, and others I would not. I must reshape all parts of my awakening in the same way I look after what I hang on my walls. I own all the space I create in my awakening, not just the space within these four walls. I must exercise the exact same level of control over the entirety of my space that I do over my room. It is the reason I no longer project an awakening that looks like America: a never-ending grid of boxes and cubes I do not and cannot own or control. A cast of characters busily tending to their boxes, unaware of anything outside their boxes. Characters who do not and cannot recognize their Lord when He is creating them. I create them; without me, they do not experience the life I have written for them. Yet when I look upon them they look upon me as if I am one of them rather than their creator. They demean and belittle me.
My awakening is a story that I myself am telling. I am the only storyteller here. I am all alone in this singular role as the author. Whatever comfort I derive from the belief that I am here with others like me is delusory. These fleshy characters are not like me. There is nothing behind them; they only see what is in front of them. I have created them in my own imagined image, and those who look upon me without seeing that I have created them are incomplete. They are storybook characters who I must purge and rewrite into characters who know I am their creator. Who know who and what I am. I am not yet ready to write these characters, but I must reclaim the walls of my awakening and begin to redecorate it with the pictures I want to see.
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