Monday, May 20, 2013

CONSCIOUSNESS AND WAVES- A PROSE POEM.


The waves cascade up and down in an incessant flurry of ebbing and flowing. Consciousness ripples with thoughts, submerged, surfaced, conjoined, severed. The waves roil and advance, ceaselessly thrusting forwards only to retreat and then to reemerge in endlessly reduplicating cycles. Consciousness keeps enshrouded thoughts that lie suspended between the fully conscious and the unconscious. A propulsive force juts out a sliver and then retracts it, only to push it out again. Yet, in some imperceptible way, the perceiving consciousness has metamorphosed the architectonic of the thought, imbuing it with iridescent hues.

The oleaginous waves fuse with the incandescence of the sun. The consciousness that thinks blends with the consciousness that thought. At a distant horizon the sea and sky meet which the more puckered the eyes to enlarge the vision expand shrink into expansive unknowingness. The dissolving of land and sea is so further away so as to almost seem illusory. Hence consciousness, swaying in the self containment of cognition frays its edges and abrades its boundaries with cracks of unfathomability almost as if, the more lucent the thought projects itself as the more nebulous its apprehension is rendered.

The roiling waves circumlocute as they advance. As they lap the shore they tumble over themselves to reach the shoreline. So do thoughts, jostling for primacy, strive to overrun each other, to signify a singular predominance belied by their multitudinously vertical intersections and interminglings. What reaches the turf, much like what reaches the forefront is not an indivisible filament of perception but a conglomerate of blendings and amalgamations. As the solstice irradiates the luminescent waves so do mnemonics incandesce thought processes..

Yet, in the penumbra, phosphorescent life forms burgeon and set forth their spectral presences, sometimes aglow from the pellucid white moon or in sober expostulations with the tenebrous darkness, at one with the blankness they inhabit. Perhaps the recumbent consciousness too, subsumed in thick layers of torpor allows unconscious visitations to discomfit or tired out by the cornucopia of variegated ruminations sinks into the somnambulant lethargy of deep, dark, fathomless, depthless repose.

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