Memory, unbidden, unfurls the moment. The moment, analogous to and like the flower ,is enclosed by petals of constituent moments that are closed in, overlapping, interleaved to each other. When the random incandescence of memory alights on the flower the petals unclose and a variegated aureole encloses a bud in the centre . The bud is the moment, the kernel, the skein enmeshed in the mosaic. The bud sends forth carillons of associations that reverberate and ricochet. This moment is the bud because it is the chosen one, albeit indeterminately. It nestled amid other moments, shielding itself being shielded until wrenched to consciousness.
The moment is inhabited by memory and tilted, turned upside down, condensed, compressed, concentrated, attenuated until its bittersweet juices are extracted and wrung out. The moment, in the integument of memory, is never constant.It undergoes metamorphoses, both palpable and amorphous. The moment is imbued with a causality of its own which is then revivified though (re) flection. Certain components adhere, some slough off, some are reduplicated but the flow of consciousness as it traverses the moment is unaltered.
Ultimately the moment occupies a valedictory space, its vertiginous significations have been absorbed, dispersed and reconstituted by the moment which recalled that moment. Two moments intersect but in some nebulous way the apprehending of reality is transmogrified.Until memory recalls it again.