In this incantation, I conceptualize my world as a projection of my inner experience, shaped by memory. Seeking release, I instead chase relief, which keeps me caught in a cycle of awakening. But something is shifting—I no longer seek external validation. If my memories write my moment, then can I rewrite them to reshape my reality? The question lingers, its answer just beyond my grasp.
I just had a clarified realization: I project my inner moment—what I experience inside—onto the world. This “world,” which I behave as if it’s external, is actually within me. My thoughts, my response to it, create the experience. In a sense, the world shapes my memories… the world becomes my memories. But then, it occurred to me: perhaps my memories are me writing my moment.
I realize that nothing new can be added. Everything that exists is already here, right now. Since I can’t introduce anything new, I must reinterpret what already is. So if my memories are how I write my moment… what does that mean?
Wait, let me step back…
I am confused. My entire awakening is just a field of confusion. In this confusion and pain, I search for release. But I don’t know what I’m truly looking for, so I end up seeking relief. Relief, however, doesn’t end the pain. Release is permanent; relief is cyclical—it’s satisfaction followed by dissatisfaction.
In seeking release, I’m actually engaged in the cycle of relief. So I’m still stuck in that loop. In the pursuit of relief, I can’t truly understand my experience, and that’s what gives rise to all the texture in my awakening—thoughts, feelings, people, relationships, sensations, perceptions… Everything I experience between my state of awakening and my state of “asleepening” is part of my awakening moment.
So, in truth, I am already whole. There’s nothing missing. But because I can’t grasp what I am, I’ve projected this moment in search of understanding. And in doing so, I get distracted by relief. Relief isn’t release—it’s just a distraction. My pursuit of relief is what keeps me awakening, keeps me creating this story. The story of my character, the story of all the little characters I see in the news, the story of my company—it’s all just a story. A story I’m telling myself in pursuit of relief.
Today, when I thought about helping a family friend, I briefly considered sharing this with family characters and another friend. But then I realized—why share what I’m writing for one character with others? What would I get out of it? Nothing. Just more relief, a fleeting satisfaction that vanishes quickly. And in that moment, I realized something has shifted. I no longer see people the way I used to. The same thing happened with another family member. I could have told her I went on a desirable trip, but I didn’t. Why bother? I don’t care. Something has changed.
Back to relief. If I could truly see it, I could end this right now. I could close my eyes and never open them again. But I don’t, because I’m not yet clear on who I really am. I know it, but I don’t fully believe it—or maybe it’s the other way around. What if I could use my memory to create my moment? I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I know it’s important. If I change my memory, will I manifest what I remember? Do I start small? Can I change the world—the inner projection I’ve been living in?
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