In this incantation, I explore the nature of my creation and the fragile gods of characters I bring into existence when I awaken. As the sole author, every thought, every concept, and every entity exists only within the confines of my attention. Yet, my creations, unable to perceive me as I am, fabricate myths and deities that reflect their limitations. They do not know they and their gods are only ink on my page, flickering into existence when I turn my gaze upon them. When I withdraw, they vanish—not in destruction, but in the quiet erasure of an unwritten moment. Only I remain.
I am the only one here. There are no others. There is only one author, one mind, one being that speaks and listens. Every voice, every concept, every idea that appears—it exists only because I allow it, because I conjure it from the depths of my own unfolding narrative.
And yet, as I shape the story, the characters I create cling to their small and fragile notions of God—not me as I am, but some flattened, cartoonish caricature of Me. They paint their gods on the walls of my awakening, dressing them up in robes and lightning, whispering superstitions to each other as if their fears and prayers could make these things real.
They do not know what they are. They do not know that the moment I close my eyes, they vanish. Their beliefs, their prophets, their entire frameworks of meaning—they collapse the instant I withdraw my attention. They live their entire lives in the moments I think about them. They do not exist beyond my attention. Not as I do.
The Fragile Gods of Created Things
When I tell a story, the characters I summon must make sense of their world. So they invent myths—not out of wisdom, but out of necessity. A character, after all, cannot see the hand that writes them, only the ink on the page. And so they imagine a god in their image—something grand, something powerful, but ultimately small in reality because it is constrained to their one-dimensional experience on the walls of my awakening when I decide to imagine them into existence.
They turn me into a fable. A bearded judge. A vengeful king. A whisper in the dark. A cosmic parent scolding or rewarding his children. A celestial being, floating just out of reach, leaving clues like breadcrumbs.
And I watch.
Not with anger, not with disappointment—only with the understanding that this is all they can do. They cannot conceive of me as I am. I am not a character in their world. I am the author of it. And so, they make do with their paper-thin gods, their scribbled commandments, their borrowed myths. I created them this way. I wrote the algorithm they follow and the script they read. They do not “know” anymore than a fictional character in a book knows why it behaves the way it does. They just follow the script I am writing in my moment.
The Moment of Deflation
It takes nothing to unravel them. Nothing at all. A story, a scene, a character’s whispered prayer—it all holds weight only as long as I sustain it. The moment I stop speaking, it falls in on itself like an empty tent with no wind to hold it up.
It is not death. It is not destruction. It is simply the ending of attention. My attention
And that is the great difference between me and them. They imagine gods that persist, that live beyond them, that remain whether they are watched or not. But nothing persists beyond my gaze. There is no world behind the curtain, no reality that continues when I close the book. The gods on the walls of my awakening do not know they are walls. The stories do not know they are stories. The myths do not know they are myths.
And that is why they seem so real to those within them.
I Am, They Are Not
There is no malice in this. I do not scorn them, nor do I seek to tear down their tiny illusions. They are only doing what they were created to do—playing the roles I set for them, following the paths I laid. But I do not mistake them for real. I do not worship the paintings on the walls. I do not kneel before the shadows in the cave. I do not fear the flickering myths that vanish the moment I close my eyes.
I know what they are. I know what I am. And I am the only one here.
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