I am the only experiencer, and the totality of existence is constrained to my experience. There is nothing outside of or beyond my experience in this moment. What I imagine as lying beyond my direct experience is an artifact of my feverish awakening. My awakening is a single, smoldering, delirious moment in which I constantly and painfully forget who I am. In my forgetfulness, I attach meaning and value to the distorted shapes of my fever; meaning and value which is not there.
My most treasured possessions and objectives, and cherished relationships and values, are nothing but recurring patterns and distortions I have imbued with qualities and characteristics they do not actually possess. There is nothing deeper than what I see, observe, and imagine. The people who have been around me my entire life are characters no different in essence than toys I imaginatively animate to life.
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