I know that I am trapped somewhere I do not what to be. I know that this captivity begins when I awaken, and ends when I asleepen. I know that what I seek is not within my awakenings, but before and after them, in what I would call my asleepening. I know that my awakenings are a prison of my own creation, and it is only me who can escape.
In awakening, I have three layers to my existence: my first self which I perceive as the origin of my awareness; my second self which is my familiar mind and body; and my third self which is all the forms, places, and sensations I experience outside of my second self. In more familiar terms, the outer world.
None of these layers is more “real” or authentic than the others. The totality of my Being is the complete aggregation and is not constrained to any one of these three layers. They are better thought of as directions; moving toward my first self will contract the condition of awakening; moving outward into my third self will expand the condition of my awakening.
I awaken the same way every time: I reluctantly depart a place where I am at peace, and arrive into a place of pain and conflict. I quickly forget who and where I really am and begin to believe that I am actually here, in this world, surrounded by other people experiencing the same. This is the onset of uniselfism.
However, I always retain self-awareness, even if only slightly. It manifests as a sense that something is deeply wrong. When I persist in asking the fundamental questions that remain unanswered in uniselfism, I open to biselfism.
Biselfism is a transitional phase where I realize that “god” is the point of awareness and observation within me, behind my eyes. I do realize that I must move toward the “god” within and struggle with the temptations outside me. In biselfism I have not resolved the outside world I conceive and perceive and assume that other people and their experiences are as real and existent as my own. Because I still believe in the equivalence of other people, many things do not fully make sense, and I continue to invest great into sharing with, convincing, and persuading other people.
It is this struggle with the outside world that finally brings about the transition to the third and final phase: triselfism. Triselfism finally brings the outside world within a single framework emanating from my first self. It starts when I begin to sever my uniselfist bonds permanently and irrevocably. This process is long and difficult and leads to a point where I no longer seek validation or approval from the people forms of my third self because I no longer misunderstand their nature. I know that they are forms within my inner and outer space that I manifest when I awaken.
In the triselfist stage I move beyond suspecting that I know everything, to figuring out precisely how. I recategorize everything knowable into two categories: that which directs inward toward healing and release, and that which directs outward toward pain and temporary relief.
Triselfism is still a state of confusion, but I can finally explain the entirety of my existence within a single ideological framework and can see how I am the author of my existence. I become aware of the two directionalities on the deepest level: movements toward and away from release.
As I proceed through triselfism I cultivate my conviction of what I truly desire and begin to willingly, naturally shed desires for relief. Things that would have been difficult for me to let go of earlier, fall away because I not only understand, but truly believe that they bring me pain. This includes relationships, aspirations, memories, and other engagements that bond me to the illness I awaken into every day.
I experience a great reduction in imaginism, and my perspective pivots back toward my first self. I think of my awakening in terms of myself only, and no longer imagine impossible and unknowable situations. My imagination and direct experience fuse.
I genuinely seek peace through release rather than relief, so I am able to make great strides in disengaging from relief-seeking relationships, desires, and movements.
As I descend further, my various selves begin to converge. I spend my awakenings fixated on release rather than the relief that has driven me in the past. I willingly withdraw more from the world I manifest when I awaken, the screams and cries of which grow louder and more terrifying. The world demands to be heard, and resists its own demise at every turn. When I engage, the world is screaming. Everyone has lost their mind, and every danger is imminent.
I know that everything I say and write while awake is a distortion of the truth I seek. To escape, I must find and rip out the stitches that hold my distortion together.
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