Wednesday, December 10, 2014


Cogitating, a great stimulus to epiphanies, has been with me all this while.It is perhaps an all too human need to have a form to sheathe vast experience in. That vast experience being, in itself, not a disembodied abstraction but a concatenation of interconnections, a confluence and conglomeration of iridescent arabesques that is interleaved to an expansive consciousness
A moment happens. A fatality occurs. A sliver of consciousness is detached and concentrated, its constituents are glazed , momentarily, with irrecoverable finality. The finality is kinetic because it is centred around a moment, a moment where happenstance and causality intersect . The moment which, though singular and indivisible is also an appurtenance where the density of other moments, with their attendant emotional intensities and importunities, weave in and out, ebb and flow. At each temporal instant fragments are allocated their metaphysical plenitude where they are centre stage, held luminously aloft for a long inspection, before subsumed precipitately into the larger panoply of energies that constitute a temporal existence.
But is the moment ingested and supplanted by other moments?Might not the moment dwell, linger, like a memory unsorted, unsifted, like a mourning incomplete. Might not the moment ,in the phosphorescent gloaming of incertitude, hearken back to itself, disconsolately, irresolutely , inconclusively. Might not the carillons and warbles of incandescence we consciously titinnabulate with be underlain by a crepuscular, penumbral cry of anguish. Or is it that both, like a musical note, hold symmetrically immanent the ostensible irreconcilables of a compartmentalized conceptualization of existence.
The warble and the aria, the shriek of anguish, the tenebrous, the luminous are huddled together in consciousness where experience, colluding with memory, confounded by caprice, compounded by indeterminacy take on kaleidoscopic patterns that refract prismatically the variegated , multi timbered, many faceted irreality of human life. Each stipple is a brush stroke that is indwelling in the tapestry. Each stripe, each streak revivifies manifold the polychromatic profundity of the uncapturable, the imperceptible yet the inexhaustible and indefatigable rumbusiousness of life.

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