Peeking over the rim of my impassive non being i looked up and thought a thought. It seemed to be about the nature of something indiscernible and nebulous. I tried to sift through the maze of my tangled unthinking to capture the co ordinates of what it was that i was so assiduously yet so indeterminately cogitating. Undoubtedly it is something abstruse because recondite phenomena are an abiding source of reflection for me. But before i can navigate the tangle of my being to capture the labyrinth of this thought i am being subsumed in a wake of a cavalcade of imponderables whose deluge bespatters me reproachfully with their incessant intimations of unknowingness.
What is an abstraction? Is it the unapprehended and therefore the unfathomable. And what, in any eventuality, is unfathomable? Is it something we see yet don't see or is its nature undiscerned by us. What, in any case, can be discerned. Does consciousness obstruct areas of knowledge because they are too capacious to be held . Isn't the mind a vast receptacle where myriad repertoires of forms of episteme can be embalmed. And one is tempted to ask what after all is consciousness? Is it something which eschews abstractions because there is only so much that it can contain. Beyond its endurance does knowing dissolve into inadequacy. Can knowing be known? Slivers of thoughts float around, some in the mind's gossamer regions but much remains unseen, unheard, uncomprehended. Writers have always attuned their inner forces of perception to capture these nuances of thought patterns. Yet as the mind knots itself into further loops of divisiveness the aspect of the minds ambivalence, of the incertitudes of singularity will become subject matter for many writers and scientists. They will explore chimeras and substratums of being and reality and how people respond to them.
An iridescent stipple of time holds crenellations of multitudes of reflections beneath them. The wave topples forward, disgorging foam and retreats from whence it emerged. Another wave spills forward dissolving, dispersing. So do thoughts jostling for primacy gather together into inchoate arabesques, hurtling towards the forefront. Out of this cornucopia a fragment detaches itself, attaching to the subconscious before another fusillade advances, leaving another fragment to momentarily repose before blending. Thoughts blur, are blotted out, superimpose, retract yet the seamless flow of consciousness keeps them entombed from whence they emerge and are disinterred. Yet what is left behind is an ineffable transformation of perception.
All of which takes me back to the quotidian nature of my original subject of inquiry which was about its own nature.
The thought that has informed these thoughts is the fact that i was thinking. Thinking was my thought.