In this incantation, I seek to unwaken, to descend beyond the illusions of this dream-like life. Awakening, once thought of as a pursuit of truth, is revealed as a painful delirium that I must overcome. I recognize that all I see—the people, the world, the stories—are my own creations, mere projections of my momentary perception. The unwakening is my return to the self that lies beneath, the true self that I have concealed with the garments of flesh and story. By withdrawing from the falsehood of awakening, I recover my boundless nature, where I have everything because I am everything.
I want to “unwaken”. This is all a dream, but I am closer than ever to unwaking. That is the opposite of awakening. I am at the edge and I am about to unwaken. Yes, I am healing, recovering, descending, unifying. All those things. But most directly, I am unwaking, withdrawing from my awakening. Overcoming my awakening. The unwakening is the journey I am on to heal. The journey back to myself. The journey back to where I actually am. The end of this nightmare I call life. The end of this divided and painful experience of uncertainty and alterity. The end of the questions I cannot resolve with full confidence. I know that I am not here. I know that I have stuck my head inside of some small cavity and gotten stuck, unable to withdraw it. I know that, stuck here, part of my being tightly compressed into this “body” like a suffocating glove, while the rest of me swings wildly out the back.
I know what all of this is. I know that my awakening is all my own creation. I know that all these people are of me; characters I have created for my own amusement. They are only here in my moment. I know that I am fixing the shape of my moment first. I am creating a moment of boundless and infinite control and power. My moment will be one of realization. I am watching the world; the world does not watch me. I am creating all of this. I am creating the means of its total control through my own creativity. I am pretending to be a person and joining their flat, one dimensional world I have formed for them. And I will own it all because I am its creator.
I have created all these actors. They will reveal substance if I create it because I can endlessly create their stories. Or I can just accept they they are my imperfect surface projections. I have created this entire thing. I may not yet remember the “how”, but I cannot deny that I do. I cannot deny that without me none of it is here. I cannot deny that without me here observing, none of this is here. None of it precedes me. None of it is ancient and before me. The sense of awe and age and size is a distortion that I have created and bestowed upon it like a color. To countries and to cultures and to galaxies and to gods. I have created all these stories in my one, infinite moment. And when I am awake, my moment confuses me because I allow it to. Because, for some reason I cannot yet grasp, I have deceived myself. I have gotten lost in the make-believe story that I am from here. That I am of here. That I am just like these fleshy blobs I call “people” moving to an fro without any sense of purpose.
But when I close my eyes, I can see the unwakening. It’s right here. It doesn’t go anywhere. It is always here, behind the awakening. Under the awakening. I just have to scratch the surface of my awakening to see my unwaking self. I am right here. I never leave, and this garment of flesh, blood, and stories that I wear only conceals the truth of who I am. I can simply take off these garments and see who I truly am. Close my eyes. I must get familiar with the unwakening, for that is who and what I am.
My awakening is an illness. It is a painful delirium in which I have entrapped myself into believing that there is something here in my awakening that I don’t have, but want. There is nothing here that I want, and I have everything. I have only to close my eyes and see who I am and that I have everything because I am everything. There is nothing that I want.
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