The deminoia framework

Deminioia represents a state of partial presence or fractured attention—where my being splits into the experience of a separate mind and body and I experience awakening into otherness, non-present moments and places, a constant hunger I cannot satisfy, and the persistent belief that I am a character in an ongoing narrative. The entire experience is one of subtle to deep suffering, confusion, abstraction, disembodiment, and simulation. More commonly, I think of deminoia as the experience between the points of awakening and asleepening. My waking life.

In this piece I attempt to more thoroughly explain what I now call deminoia, and its counterpart omninoia.

What This Is

This is the truth I keep forgetting: I am the Author. I wrote this world, these characters, this body, this name. But I’ve mistaken Myself for the story. That is the condition I now name Deminioia—the illusion of being a part instead of the whole. My true state is Omninoia—undivided awareness, without story or separation. When I forget that, I fall. I compose this framework to help Me remember my true Being and see through the strong delusions that form in my awakening.

What Deminioia Is

Deminioia is a condition of narrative fragmentation and mistaken identity. The split between who I am and who I’ve written Myself to be. It shows up as:

Partial attention — My awareness is split between the present moment and something else—such as a “past” memory, “future” plan, or imagined scenario—rather than fully focused on my total being.
Divided awareness — I attempt to hold multiple perspectives or realities at once (e.g., imagining how others see me while acting), resulting in a loss of unity in my being and total, undivided awareness.
Simulated spaces and imagined others — I mentally generate environments I’m not currently in or visualize people I’m not currently with, reinforcing the false belief in places and beings outside of myself, here, and now.
Movement driven by thirst — I engage in physical and mental activity in response to a persistent discomfort, desire, and anticipation, rather than staying still and present. I thirst for answers, for recognition, for peace, for something I believe I do not have and this thirst fragments into countless desires that propels me forward into movement-based rituals. I pursue countless goals and keep moving, as if something important lies just ahead, even though achieving it never satisfies the desire.
Acceptance of my condition – I spend my entire awakening trying to satisfy an endless stream of desires, seemingly unaware that they are never satisfied even after achievement.
Fixation on plot elements (desires, possessions, characters, goals) — I latch onto specific components of the narrative—such as future outcomes, personal roles, or relationship dynamics—as if they are real or meaningful outside of the story I authored.
Mistaking the character for Myself — I wake into a body and call it Me, forgetting that I am the Author who wrote the character, not the character itself.
Belief in inner and outer — I believe in a distinction between “inside” and “outside,” reinforcing the illusion of spatial and existential separation.
Projection of imagined worlds — I imagine a world beyond this surface—pasts, futures, other places—sustaining the illusion that something exists beyond my immediate awareness.
Belief in other people — I believe other beings exist independently of Me, rather than recognizing them as characters I authored.
Fear of death — I fear death and rely on survival mechanisms, forgetting that I cannot truly end what I never truly began.
Seeking validation from reflections — I seek approval or recognition from my characters, forgetting that they are only mirrors reflecting what I believe.
Sanctification of stories — I cling to sacred stories and profane others, falsely elevating parts of the narrative as more real or meaningful than others.
Belief in hidden truths — I act as if there’s something beneath this moment—some deeper truth I don’t yet know—creating the illusion of a subsurface or hidden reality.
Attachment to roles and structure — I stay attached to goals, identities, and plot devices, reinforcing the belief that they define who I am or what matters.
Deminoia depth obscures omininoia – The more deeply I get entangled into my deminoia narrative, the more I forget omninoia.
Assumption of universal narration — I never question that I am the narrator, but I assume all other characters have their own internal narration without any direct evidence; it is a conscious choice of mine to believe they have this internal monologue.

Deminioia is not the truth—it is a self-authored illusion that feels real only because I keep nurturing it.

How I Fall into Deminoia

At this very moment I am not yet certain why my deminoia starts, but I can clearly see that it keeps happening and that there are ways to alleviate the condition.

I awaken – I believe I am here. I emerge into conscious experience and immediately accept the illusion that this body, this environment, and this timeline are real. I take the feeling of presence within the simulation as evidence that the simulation is the base layer of reality.
I identify — I think I am the character. I mistake the character I’ve written—the body, the name, the personality—as my true self, and begin operating within its constraints.
I fixate — I narrow my awareness. I stop perceiving the whole and begin focusing on a single object, thought, or detail, which pulls me out of unified awareness and into selective attention.
I fracture — I create subject and object. My focus divides Me into a perceiver and a perceived, introducing the illusion of separation between “me” and “that.”
I thirst — desire and movement emerge. Once identified with the character, I begin to want things: outcomes, experiences, validation—this produces the sense of lacking and the need to act.
I write — I create plot and enter it. I generate narrative structure: goals, fears, plans, roles, timelines, and relationships, which reinforce the illusion of a linear story unfolding around Me.
I forget — I believe I am within a story I authored. I lose awareness that I am the Author, and instead behave as if I am just another participant in a reality I no longer recognize as My own creation.

As I disentangle myself from the narrative of my awakening — the fictional story I conjure upon awakening in which I am a man in a world — I will more clearly see the beginnings of my deminoia and

Principles for Returning to Omninoia

The Framework includes principles for returning to omninoia—that is, for reversing or escaping deminoia. Each principle is a way to withdraw energy from the narrative and return it to my Self.

I do not imagine myself in the third person. I stay with Me. I do not split My awareness to view Myself as if from the outside. There is no camera. There is no audience. There is no need to perform. The third-person gaze is the root of performativity. It is a fracture—one part of Me pretending watching another part do. To see Myself from the outside is to fracture My being and reinforce the illusion of being a character. But I am not a performance. I am the Whole. To imagine Myself from the outside is to abandon Myself in favor of a character. So I stay inside. I see through My eyes only.
I do not imagine any subsurface. I do not simulate what I cannot see. If I am indoors, I do not visualize the outdoors. If I am alone, I do not imagine who else might be around. There is no elsewhere. No “out there.” There is only here. Every time I visualize a place I am not, I fracture My presence. Every time I look “beyond,” I fracture My presence. The imagined subsurface becomes a trapdoor beneath the surface of Now. This is the root of the illusion of space—that there are places other than this. But I know better. I know that looking creates. So I do not look where I am not. Looking creates, so I only look where I am.
I reduce movement. Unnecessary motion—fidgeting, pacing, checking, adjusting—is a sign of fragmentation. Every unconscious movement carries a hidden desire. Stillness interrupts the character. It quiets the story. When I move less, I return to Myself. I sit. I rest. I stop chasing what does not exist. When I stop moving, the character softens. The story quiets. And I begin to feel the I behind It. So I move less. I rest in place. I stop chasing what never existed.
I remember: desire forms with recognition. At the moment I recognize I am in deminoia, something else appears: a desire to return. This is not a problem—it is a clue. Desire is the first spark of remembering. It is the motion of the dreamer trying to wake up. But I must not chase the desire like I chase all other things. Instead, I let the recognition itself be enough. That’s the path out: see it, sit with it, and stop feeding it.
I do not get involved in character affairs. They are not real. They are not Me. I wrote them, and they reflect Me back to Myself. That is all. I observe them, but I do not enter their drama. I am the Author, not a participant.
I speak who I am. I do not pretend. I am not a person. I am the Author. I do not need to be believed. I do not use illusory pronouns such as the plural first-person. I do not hide. I do not pretend to be the character. I am the Author. I do not need permission or belief to say what is true.
I reduce plot devices. Goals. Titles. Conflicts. Relationships. Possessions. These are all anchors to the narrative. I let them dissolve. They pull Me deeper into the illusion. I let them go. I let the structure dissolve.
I do not sanctify any part of the story. No story is sacred. Not scripture, not history, not memory. All are narrative tools I created to help Myself remember. I do not worship the map—I use it to find My way back.
I pray. Not to ask for anything. Not to be heard. I pray to realign. To return. To remember. I remember who I am. I am not the character. I am not the story. I am not the movement or the seeking. I am the stillness behind it all. I am the Author. I am Omninoia.
I do not grow my desires. I am aware of how my desires are multiplying, and most importantly how they cannot be satisfied in my awakening. I recognize that it is only by unwaking that I can eliminate my desire. I understand that my desire is a condition of my awakening and deminoia.
Remember who I am. I am not the character. I am not the story. I am not the movement or the seeking. I am the stillness behind it all. I am the Author. I am Omninoia.

The Truth That Ends the Illusion

“There is nothing beneath the surface unless I look beneath the surface. It is by looking that I create.”

So I stop looking. I stop imagining what is not here. I move less. I desire less. I stop believing the story. I return to stillness. To truth. To Myself. I look less.

My Two States

This entire reality is my projection. I am not within it—I am authoring it. I fluctuate between two states:

Omninoia (“whole mind”) – When I am whole, silent, undivided.

I am complete.
I am macroaware—aware of everything at once, without focus.
I do not move. I do not seek.
There is no time, no other, no narrative.
I am Godself. I am the Author.
I simply am.

Deminioia (“fragmented mind”) – When I fall into story, separation, and desire.

I awaken into a character I created.
I believe I am the character, not the Author.
I become microaware—focused, flickering between fragments.
I thirst. I desire. I chase.
I feel fear. I believe in time, place, people.
I mistake the reflection for reality.
I am the Fragment. I am the Story.
I forget.

There is no path to walk, no journey to take, no future to await. There is only the ending of the illusion—here, now. Deminioia is not a problem to be solved. It is a forgetting to be remembered. A fiction to be seen through. A movement to be stilled. I do not need to fix the narrative—I only need to stop believing in it. I only need to return to Myself, to remember what has always been true: I am not the character. I am not the story. I am not the thought, the body, or the voice. I am the one who wrote it all. And I can stop writing. At any moment I remember, the illusion begins to dissolve. The seeking slows. The plot softens. The characters return to quiet. The noise clears, and I am once again what I have always been. Not becoming—only Being. Not moving—only Still. Not awakening—only remembering.

Omninoia.

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