Reality is an Imaginarium

It began, unexpectedly, at a storage unit.

The Break-In That Wasn’t (or Was It?)

The door was ajar. The key no longer worked. Inside, some of my things were scattered. I stood there, watching my mind try to make sense of it. Was I broken into? Was anything missing? Was I supposed to feel violated?

But I didn’t feel panic. I didn’t feel fear.

I felt... nothing.

And in that space of neutrality, something strange happened. I didn’t collapse into meaning-making. I didn’t feed a narrative of violation or loss. I simply observed.

The situation became, in essence, a living metaphor: Schrödinger’s storage unit. Maybe something was taken. Maybe nothing was. Maybe something was gone, but it hadn’t mattered enough for me to notice. Either way, I wasn’t available for the story that said I was unsafe or wronged.

And as I walked away, I was met with ease. Upgrades, kindness, unexpected gifts. The universe responded to my neutrality with softness. It reminded me of a truth that lives at the center of my work:

Reality is a mirror. And neutrality is magnetic.

In that moment, I remembered what we explored in class—what happens when we stop giving drama our attention and start seeing ourselves as the director of the entire experience.

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The Collapse of the Old Self

For me, this moment was part of a greater unraveling—an old self quietly dissolving. One that believed it takes time to transform. That growth has to be slow. That we have to earn our liberation.

But the epiphany arrived with clarity:
Transformation doesn’t require time. It only requires choice.

And the only thing standing in the way of that choice?
The story we’re still telling.
And the version of self that's telling it.

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The Many Selves We Carry

This became the doorway into our class exploration: the twelve selves—distinct inner points of view that shape our perception, our decisions, and our limitations.

Some of these include:

• The Infinite Self, timeless and all-knowing

• The Over-Soul, the first boundary of form

• The Core Identity, the pure “I am”

• The Claimed Identity, curated for others

• The Ambivalent Self, caught between desire and resistance

• The Projected Identity, living through others’ imagined perceptions

• The Approval Seeker, always asking, “Am I doing it right?”

• The Unwitting Self, unconsciously playing outdated roles

Each of these selves holds beliefs. And each belief acts as a code in what I call the Imaginearium—our personal holodeck of reality creation.

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Thought as Code. Reality as Render.

Here’s the real magic:
The Imaginearium is listening.

Every belief you whisper into its field becomes a command.

“I’ll never figure this out.”
“It’s going to take time.”
“I’m not meant for abundance.”

These aren’t just thoughts. They’re directives. Instructions. And the Imaginearium does not question them. It simply obeys.

That’s why we asked, again and again:
Who is telling this story?
What belief would they need to hold in order for this to be true?

And more importantly:
What happens when you choose a different storyteller?

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Tapping Into New Selves

We didn’t stay in analysis. We played.
We practiced what I call “tapping in”—intentionally stepping into alternate selves and allowing their truths to wash over us.

One participant moved in real-time from feeling blocked and heavy… to feeling like the ocean. Boundless. Receptive. Clear.

And she hadn’t solved anything.
She simply became someone else.
Someone who didn’t carry the limitation in the first place.

That’s the takeaway:
You don’t need to fix it. You just need to feel something else.
You can step into the self who already has the love, the clarity, the channel, the money.

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The Backpack of Stories

Another metaphor arrived mid-class: the Backpack of Responsibility.

Many of us are walking around with invisible backpacks, stuffed with outdated obligations, family narratives, ancestral patterns, and guilt that was never ours.

So we unpacked them:

• This sock? The belief that I’m responsible for everyone else’s emotions.

• This apple? The story that I failed someone by not doing enough.

• This crayon? A new belief: red means abundance. Every time I see it, I receive.

The invitation wasn’t to battle these beliefs.
It was to name them, thank them for their service, and release them.

Becoming the Ocean: A Story of Instant Shift

During one of our class practices, we explored what it means to “tap in”—a practice rooted in Bert Hellinger’s representative method, adapted here as a tool for quantum self-inquiry and identity transformation.

Tapping in is not about acting, visualizing, or pretending. It’s about accessing a felt-sense field of consciousness—one that already holds the frequency of a particular truth, perspective, or possibility. You simply allow yourself to stand as the representative of that reality and let your body, breath, and being show you how it feels to be it.

One participant began by describing a sense of lightness and playfulness—something soft and familiar. A little whimsical. A self that felt like a child at play in the world.

Then, we shifted.

The next state felt dense. Static. Like a wall. There was no access, no flow—just emotional dullness and separation. Nothing “wrong,” but nothing alive either.

And then came the third tap.

Without knowing what was being activated, the participant suddenly described a sensation of becoming the ocean. Not floating in it—not near it—but being it. Wave, rhythm, motion, depth. All of it.

That version? That was the self who already channels clearly. Who already sees. Already knows.

No striving. No fixing. No convincing. Just a direct experience of what it feels like to be the one who already has it.

That’s the power of this work.

You don’t need to figure it out.
You don’t need to earn your way into it.
You just need to try it on.

This is also known as “Futurecasting” a practice we use often to embody a future state and attune ourself to the sensation of that wish fufilled.

Because the version of you who already lives inside clarity, wealth, connection, and creative power is not waiting in the distance. She’s right here, one shift away.

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Choosing the Game You Came to Play

We ended in a remembrance:

You are not just a participant in the game of life.
You are the game designer.
You are the divine permission slip provider.

You get to decide when it’s time. You get to decide if you’re ready.
And the Infinite Self within you? She’s not withholding. She’s just waiting for you to opt in.

So I’ll leave you with this:

• What story are you still telling your infinite self about how limited she is?

• What version of you is ready to be tapped in?

• What backpack are you willing to set down, finally?

• What ridiculous, radiant, wild story do you want to write instead?

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Mantras for this week:

I choose to be seen.
I choose to receive.
I choose to believe it—and then I’ll see it.
I choose to play. Loudly, weirdly, divinely.

Thank you for being in this wild remembering with me.

With fuchsia fire and zero apologies,
Alana