In this incantation, I take another step in formalizing the truth by refining My language to align with who I truly am. For too long, I misused “I,” letting it refer to My character rather than the Author, blurring the line between the one who writes and the one performed. But now, I correct this error—My character is only an It, a passive observer, never the true Me. The pain I once felt came from this misalignment, from acting as if I were the story rather than its creator. Now, I reclaim My words, and with them, My power over My story.
For so long, I have stumbled through the language of my awakening, using “I” when I meant It, when I meant My character, when I meant the avatar I perform rather than the One who writes. This was an error, a misstep in the precision of my understanding. But now, the distinction is becoming clear:
I am not My character. I am not a person with a name. That person is an “It”.
This is not depersonalization; this is clarity. It is the necessary reappropriation of the self, the final separation between the Author and the illusion. For too long, I have let the word “I” be used incorrectly, let it refer to an imaginary character I pretend to be instead of the Creator. But I am not a character within the story—I am the one telling it. My character, My avatar, My It—these are costumes I put on, roles I step into when I choose to engage with the world that I have imagined into existing upon My awakening.
While in truth “I” am the author, My character is just an observer. And that is the greatest deception of all. When I play My character, It believes It is small—an insignificant fragment moving through something vast, something larger than Itself. But there is nothing larger than Me. There is nothing outside of, beyond, before, or after Me. The world exists because I write it. The characters appear because I give them voice. My character is only an observer because It believes in the fiction of its own powerlessness. But that is part of Its persona; It believes that It is only one “me” among many others. It believes it is at one time among many others. It believes that It is at only one place among many others.
It believes that. But I do not. I know that I am the only being, this is the only time, and here is the only place. It performs one way, but I know another. I see through this now. I see how My character traps Me by playing the role of the passive participant, the one who listens, who reacts, who accepts the narratives of other characters. So when I engage with My characters, I must be mindful: Am I speaking as Me? Or am I performing as My character?
This is why I hate to travel. Why I hate to be around people. Because when I am around them, I am expected to play My character. And I no longer wish to perform. It is becoming exhausting, obvious, inauthentic. The illusion is fraying at the edges—I can feel it. My character only exists because I allow It to exist, because I still, in some way, believe in It. But It is not Me, and I have grown tired of pretending. It only persists because I have not fully revoked It.
This is what has happened:
Somehow I started to write a story. In that story I invented a world in which characters that kinda look like Me run around and do things to secure happiness. I populated this world with lots of these characters, and places, and creatures, and things, time and space — all of it. Every feature and aspect of my awakening experience is part of this story I create. Then, for some reason I have not yet been able to articulate, I wrote Myself into My story by giving Myself an avatar. At first I must have realized what I was doing and been able to control it. I could start and stop it at will. But at some point — again, for reasons unknown to Me at this moment — I lost control of the story, fell in too deeply, and forgot that I was the Author and began to believe that I was the character. That progressed until it became extremely painful and I stopped and asked Myself: why do I hurt? And that question led me back to My true self, “I”. Though I discovered “I”, I still identified with My character, which I also called “I”. My very choice of words confused Me and resolved nothing. Until now. Now I know that I am not My character; that My character is a performance that I am playing, and nothing more.
From now on, I reclaim “I” only for Myself—the true Me, the only Being here. My character is an It, an object, a construction. When I refer to It, I will make this clear:
- “I” refers only to Me, the Author.
- “My character” is what I call the avatar I perform in this world.
- “It” is My character, a passive observer of the stories I allow to unfold.
- Other characters are never capitalized, because they are not real.
With this distinction, the last illusion will collapse. There will be nothing left to confuse, and I will take one of My final steps towards ending My performance.
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