Monday, June 16, 2014


It is difficult to differentiate even between categories because a certain intermingling is unavoidable. Time is something that dictates my life ,both in its linear and non linear manifestations. Did time exist independently for us to adapt to or did we bring time into being, to structure our existence. The rhythms of nature are cyclical but human patterns are irrevocable, irrevocable because of the spectre of cessation that looms large.

Between the past, present and future is the moment, the moment experienced yet not grasped. The moment, in itself, ephemeral, evanescent. The moment in itself, self contained, inviolable. Yet the moment ,in itself, transmutable and metamorphosable. Out of these concatenations of a single point in time are moments of being, multitudinous.In a single moment, a compendium of unsifted memories, recollections, reminiscences flat chaotically, hurled pell mell, inextricably knotted yet singularly disparate.

The moment, habitable, transiently, infinitesimally is the space where being is at its purest. In that sliver of time, interleaved to a fragment of experience, the entirety of consciousness reposes. It is the moment of aliveness, the moment of feeling free from the burdens of existential crises. And because this communion is ungraspable, uncapturable it evades , flees any attempt to capture and cohere. A human life, my life is a combination of these innumerable moments which strung together, tenuously expressible but tangibly experienced constitute a fluid yet inalterably incandescent fulcrum of becoming.

It is the moment that buttresses me though i am unable to pinpoint or conceptualize what that scaffolding is because i can only deploy language that is self negating, a language which, for all its concrete associations in a physical world fails to render this impalpable phenomenon articulable. I am forced to use abstractions which, though linguistically amorphous, are experientially conspicuous. You, reading this, need only close your eyes to get at and comprehend what i mean which you, in turn, will be unable to articulate but which will, through the mediation of incompensatory yet suggestible words, open a whole inner world within you.

It is difficult to trust memory in its entirety either because memory is, in  a sense, articulable retroactively. I know it is a memory because it comes back to me in a specific temporal context. It is something i recapture hence the retrospective constructions i impose upon it. Memory can irradiate these moments but it can romanticize them, put a gloss over their actuality. And,in a sense, the memory's constituents are themselves those very moments, reshaped into experience through their interchange.

Time present can become time past the moment the moment vanishes in the very utterance of its utterance. Time past creates patterns that shape time future, not inexorably but through possibility. Time present recedes into time past but leaves behind an imperceptible metamorphosis that impacts time future. Meanwhile the moment, by itself, rests while the whirling of time passes by and through it.

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