In this incantation, I recognize my awakening as a form of illness—a painful condition where my moment of existence is shaped by the tension between my desires and my inability to satisfy them. My outer self and inner self reflect a constant struggle: the more I seek to fulfill my desires, the more I suffer. I have come to realize that my desires are the source of this pain, feeding a metaphorical tumor within me. Only by desiring less can I begin to heal and find the peace that has been within me all along.
My awakening is an illness. The totality of my condition is an experience in the shape of a moment, with a physical front-side I call my outerself, and a mental back-side I call my innerself. Fundamentally, it is a state of suffering and confusion as I am constantly reflecting: I want something, but what do I want? I oscillate between the recognition that I am missing something, and the actions I take to retrieve what I am missing. This constant tension leaves me exhausted and in pain, as all of my efforts to secure what I want fail to actually satisfy.
My moment is not just defined by the physical space I occupy but also by the entirety of my desires. It encompasses everything I think, believe, and yearn for. My moment contains everything I believe will bring an end to my longing. Before I understood that it was the very nature of desire that prolonged my suffering, I fed those desires endlessly, expanding my moment to unbearable limits, stretched to the point of breaking. I believed that to find peace, I had to possess everything I desired—and only then would I find the serenity I sought.
It took immense effort to understand that this very tension was the source of my dissatisfaction. The peace I was searching for wasn’t waiting in some imagined future—it was here, with me all along. The peace I seek is not out there; it resides within. My moment is like a tumor that feeds on one thing: my desire. When I crave more, I nourish this tumor, increasing the pressure and intensifying the pain of awakening. But when I desire less, I suffocate the tumor, release the pressure, and begin to heal from the awakening. I must never forget that awakening is painful because it is a wound. Feeding it with more desire deepens the pain, while desiring less allows it to wither and heal.
When I trace my moment back to its origin, I see how my desire takes shape and how my response fuels it. If I had complete mastery over my desires, I could simply close my eyes in this moment and choose never to open them again—because there would be nothing in my awakening that I still want. But I cannot do that, not yet. When I close my eyes, I deprive my moment of the nourishment it needs to survive, and so my desire launches its attack: intrusive thoughts, vivid images, physical cravings. It will do anything to make me open my eyes again.
My moment is my own torment, my own hell. Opening my eyes and awakening is the original sin. My moment is a cyst, and my experience—split between my inner self and outer self—is the substance that fills it. The entirety of my experience forms the body of this tumor.
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