Wednesday, January 15, 2014


I like affirmation, or rather confirmation. A cavalcade of admirers satiates my ego. But being bypassed plunges me into depths of despair. Sometimes i lament my lack of self belief, the inviolable kernel of being that i can rejoice in. Yet when my evening gown, sequinned and studded with refracting mirrors ripples and susurrates i feel self contained, in possession of my incontrovertible beauty. But admiration from onlookers and obsequious courtiers dissatisfies me. I need something special, something private, some self communion with my integument to ratify the blueprint of myself i hold in my psyche.
The mirror performs one such function. I externalize the mirror, making it other. I draw from it validation of my singular beauty. I extroject myself and introject the significations the mirror reflects back to me. Most times though, through a suspension of self awareness, i ignore my own centrality in my becoming, preferring to see the mirror itself as an entity in itself, affirming me to myself. I disallow fusillades of self consciousness to assail me. The rims of the mirror gleam iridescently in the moonlight and it is then that my own luminosity is unwaveringly revealed to me. Because the mirror is my unconscious i do allow self doubt to sometimes creep in, rendering me inadequate but on most days i feel complacent and in sole possession of my inescapable beautifulness.
I love her. She is young but the pearly whiteness of her skin, the unsullied gleam of her molars, her young budding breasts entice and beckon. I see her as an embodiment of my own youth. She is a pool in whose depths i gaze, seeing what i believe i want to see. She merges seamlessly with me. I see her as a part of me, soldered and cleaved irrevocably. In some ways she is my mirror because she reflects, to me, the possibilities of my own apotheosis. As long as i remain the base in my own superstructure i concede to her her own individuality which is, in fact, an extension and distillation of my own incandescence.
Though these days, rather desultorily the lack, roiling immanently in me, rears its head. My singleness of ubiquitous beauty is no longer pleasurable. I see her growing more voluptuous and delectable dayby day. Men have started noticing her. The knowing of my own construction, upon my perception of me, is dawning. I am realizing that i am a narcissist and the prospect of it is unwelcome, suppurating my ageing bones and wrinkling skin with self loathing. I am helpless before this onslaught of self hatred that is crippling me, killing me within. She, once a symbol of my youthfulness is now a glaring reminder of my withering and desiccation. I must do something about it.

Tuesday, January 14, 2014


Initially there is a nothingness, a cosmic state of entropy. Either constituents configure or a mysterious propulsion brings life into being. That mysterious force or quantum mass is unknowable. Centuries later man descends the depths of cosmic density to understand the mechanism behind it all. The stars gleam iridescently, the moon casts its luminous shadow and the constellations whirl and the search for answers is foiled again. Yet the possibility of knowledge and its epistemelogical unraveling propels man on. Various theories endeavor to understand the ineffable but its nebulosity is ungraspable. The belief buoys man up, the feeling that the hieroglyphs would reveal an arcane script that would answer all the big questions.

The beginning is an unknowable anterior. Indeterminacy is intractable yet it is its very fluidity that renders obdurate its elasticity. The nothingness which is experienced as both outside and in is actually the center of consciousness. It is the space where the seam is knotted, meaning is concentrated and modes of knowing intersect. It is non being or a higher being. The raison d etre of this realm is that it is experienced but inarticulable, that its significations can be felt but not expressed. With the passage of centuries as being and becoming were promulgated from this non being awareness of its fulcrum in human life was bypassed. Rather than a space of recompense for metaphysical jadedness it become a terrifying abyss. It's tenebrous emptiness is a human construct, a consignment of the unapprehended to the zone of the unutterably horrifying and inadmissible.

Some people though, more so as time passes by get a glimpse of the vertiginous depths of this precipice. Unaccustomed to delving deep they retract, recoiling in horror, reentering the simulacrum of the quotidian while the underlying awareness of the precipice imbues their incursions into the here and now with a realization of its existential void.

Of what then, does this journey consist of. It requires an atemporal passage through time and history to a space where time and history become non existent. It is a traversing of a primordial blankness, a space where nothingness begins and ends and which is itself nothingness. The journey takes two forms. It is, on the one hand, a peregrination through myth, oral culture and history to find ways in which being was created out of non being, a form of knowing that has, with contemporaneous depredations, receded and become indistinct. The other, more central journey is to touch the very nerve end of this center of emptiness and commune with it. Though answers, particularly demonstrable through language and experiment, would be difficult the experience will be experienced. Is it necessary to communicate this incommunicable experience? Could not inhabiting it affect imperceptibly being and becoming. The odyssey is inwards, a burrowing beyond the collective consciousness to the kernel of cosmic consciousness. The returns are not just a new apprehending of life but a discovery of the amorphous mysteriousness at the kernel of life.