Ruminating over the irrevocability of mortality i had a thought. A thought which, amid the exigencies of ill health , extricated itself and became, from the gossamer impalpability wherein it had reposed, a lucent cogitation. And the thought was the thought of the thought itself.
Often, against mounting pressure, in the shadow of death, a sliver of the life force gets inveigled. It is perhaps the dissolution imminent in death which, confronting its own annihilation, witnessing the process of decay, yet cleaving to mnemonics of life, affirms, indubitably, the incandescence of those moments of being which, conglomerated, become, despite their exiguity, a full life.
And indeed the thought i had, with its iridescent streaks of affirmativeness, obliterated habitual misgivings. It was, as though, in that luminous moment, when the thought was contemplated and brought to conscious notice, a welter of associations, a cavalcade of memories, unspooled and reaggregated to form a moment, this moment where the asymmetry immanent in consciousness was momentarily obviated. A symphonic harmony came into being, an amalgam of the penumbral and the pellucid, the dark and the light.
The thought, in itself, putatively, did not contain the depths i attribute to it. The density i associate it with is a process of retrospection. As i unravel each thread, each seam, the material of my life stretches before me in diaphonous plentitude. And subsequently, like a seamstress, these moments, disentangled, reconfigured, become the mosaic that encloses my integument. Each arabesque in this mosaic has been lovingly and valedictorily fingered. There is me, a being battling mortality whose rumination on the evanescence of life, its transitoriness,creates this moment. Then there is the being entombed within the palimpsest, a floating, disembodied, protean, fluid being whose consciousness, in partaking of the larger consciousness it is ineffably amalgamated to, reconfirms ,yet again, that while cessation is inevitable and atrophy incontrovertible, there are still moments which have been and will be lived, beyond the mortal frame. And that, in the face of ephemeral humaneness, gives me hope.