Thursday, October 24, 2013


Even as i write this i am beset by a discomfiting feeling that what i'm about to express has already been explored. So i hope my excitement at my new findings would be sufficient justification for my putative presumptuousness. No idea, thought, postulation is ever singular. It remains, both imperceptibly and inveterately part of a larger consciousness. Yet these moments of self reflection thrill with their uniqueness as consciousness, with self congratulatory pleasure, compliments its perspicacity.

My cogitations on stream of consciousness do not arise from a theoretical position. Rather i use the phenomenon by measuring it self consciously against my own lived experience. And what i find is that the stream has ellipses, circumlocutions, retractions that are ineluctably components constituting it. A memory is contextual yet its emergence from the mind's gossamer regions is nebulous. Consciousness and the memory it brings into being only partly explains the extrication of that memory from a conglomeration of innumerable memories. From a corporeal rationality memory can be attributed a telos, an anteriority. Yet that undifferentiated concatenation of memories, associations, thoughts are suggestive of a certain metaphysical propensity. Which raises a question as to whether metaphysics is webbed to the quotidian or is predicated on a transcendence of it. My own tentative hypothesis is that it is from the kernel of the quotidian that the metaphysical emerges. To negate the here and now negates the fiber of human being, its essential fulcrum. The stream of consciousness is threaded to the collective consciousness. The individual becomes through collective being. We are shaped by a larger consciousness and we shape it too. So the two are immanent and inextricably intertwined. Any meandering of a stream of consciousness, any remnant of its constituents, any co ordinate of its larger structuration suggests something about the collective consciousness . This does not mean a repudiation of the contingent. It only amalgamates the two. The unconscious too, in these times of singular self assertion, is seen as a special possession of the individual while it postulates a communality of intersecting consciousnesses.

We remember the same thing many times. Yet with each change in context a subtle metamorphosis occurs in the nature of memory itself so that each revisitation is composed of fresher arabesques that reconstitute into a different texture while retaining the constituents of the original memory. There are also gaps in memory as memory is retroactive and retrospective. Yet memory is also a bridge, a funnel through which inchoate experience is rendered articulable. There is certainly a realm where experience is experienced yet memory imbues that experience with cognitive reshaping . Indubitably to authenticate experience memory must go within, traverse the quadrangles of the inner, the interior and dredge up a verisimilitude of the original experience. Given the retroactive nature of memory its seamless coalescing to interiority is incomplete nor can a simulacrum or facsimile of experience correspond to the original. For memory to plumb the depths is for memory to link itself to the collective. Another way of looking at it, albeit self contradictorily would be to asseverate, rather tremulously that memory is predetermined and therefore unavoidably cleaved to experience. Such a proposition leaves out prevarications of consciousness. Memory needn't be an accurate reproduction of experience but a reshaping of it. It is inevitable that memory is a receding of a primordial experiential realm. Nor is it accurate to see that primevality as chaos or undifferentiated randomness. It is a space where experience is self reflexively self authenticating. Memory plays capricious tricks. It blurs here, blots out there, is pellucid here, indistinct there. 

For a stream of consciousness to reflect interiority posits the collective as an necessary accompaniment. It also necessitates the self validating of memory through its soldering to inner experience which is also collective. The aegis of empirical consciousness is self consciously unselfconscious. It's recapitulations are compounded by self deception. The pertinacious query that arises is whether memory can mirror experience faithfully or is it by its very nature a reinterpretation. The experience i allude to is not an ontological wholeness which memory faithfully remembers. That experiential dimension is incontrovertibly unknowable. But memory can transmit that unknowability. Stream f consciousness could, by penetrating interior nooks and crannies acknowledge this nothingness, this blankness. Yet the script of our humaneness, our becoming is a rewriting from this blank palimpsest. Thus stream of consciousness could, through its very deliberation on incertitude, point the way towards a becoming of a collective humanity.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013


The sun rose. Somnambulant consciousness, subsumed in thick waves of torpor, stretched its recumbent constituents. Memory, sharpened by the incandescent light stirred softly, imperceptibly. Eyes, gummed with sleep, unclosed and the pinpricks contracted as a sliver of light pierced through it. The eye blinked, opened, paused for a moment as though resisting the penumbra of sleep that would contain it and opened yet again with a finality, with unresisting determination as though to begin the day with alacrity and decisiveness. The obdurate frame too, twisting and turning, expanded musculature, unknotted the contraction that sleep induced .

Memory, always alert, quickened forces of perception. It had lain quietly in the dark, roiling, ebbing and flowing with dreams, spectral presences, wish fulfillment and fancy. Expansive memory deepened diurnal consciousness, imbuing the quotidian reality of daytime with phosphorescent underlife. Yet memory too, in complicity with sleep, had though indubitably active, slackened its intractable hold. The dreamer could dream on, stippled by moments of disquiet, sometimes woken from nightmarish visitations before sleep reclaimed and folded him into its plumage of nothingness.

Memory, unavoidably oleaginous flits unctuously through the inner chambers of the mind, traversing its myriad untapped potentialities, consciously indiscernible unconscious. Memory peregrinates the crenellations of collective consciousness, alighting on a fragment here, perching on a remnant there. Memory transmutes moments of being into conspicuous dapples that irradiate and illumine in segments yet, by osmosis, remain threaded to the larger consciousness from which they broke free before attaching themselves to the conscious.

Outside the wave advances, deposits sediments, retreats only to reemerge, as though the cyclical pattern of its continuance is the certitude informing a precarious world. Yet with each ebb a newer consciousness of metamorphosis underpins the hithering and thithering. So do memories reconstitute by refracting streaks of associations which, with each visitation hold up causality with pellucid transparency before merging wholly, incontrovertibly with a larger mode of being.