Wednesday, March 25, 2015


I was jaded from the perils of a fragmented world. I wanted quietude, peace, tranquillity so i came by this lonesome cottage. My meals are sparse, my walks routine, unpunctuated by startling visitations and my sleep unmolested. This is a state of affairs that should be prepossessing. And outwardly a seemly order seems to have established itself. Within, though, a churning is occurring. The past seems unexpungeable and it is necessary, in order to arrive at a certain clarity, to lay out, with philosophic detachment, the lineaments of my thought process. Perhaps such an exercise is self defeating and pointless. But it is, for the moment, all i have.
Like many i was hungry for love. Not the pallid love of kisses and hugs but a more nobler love where beings were interchanged and blended, individual selves cleaved to create a new reality. All this was theoretical, you see. In fact i wanted to, with unremitting voracity, consume the souls of my interlocutors and lovers. I daresay this sounds very dramatic. But i was empty within and anything which took me out of this morass i was in, this shifting quicksand that threatened to suck me in, was highly welcome.
Since then i have realized that much of my desire to absorb the other was predicated on the need to realign my own singularity. I thought i could reinvent myself, through the aegis of the other since my own was so nugatory. Needless to say, the many i intersected with rebelled against this, often in imperceptible ways, preferring a precarious grasp of their own tenuous selves than give in. They were threatened by the possibility of engulfment as though holding on to a nebulous self was their only certainty, as though any relinquishment would be an annihilation of such finality that recovery would be impossible. Only nothingness .
If my inadequacy prompted possessiveness then their insecurity necessitated withdrawal. For long i oscillated between these two realms. My tenebrous mental attic is habitually inclement since the state of being i aspire to and the state of being i inveterately land up in are incongruous.
From the canopy of my incompleteness i seek a wholeness. And deliberations have shown me that my modus operandi is not all that objectionable. Given the relational nature of human consciousness might not a mingling and mangling of beings be the prerequisite for a more meaningful existence. Yet individuality fears, precipitantly, any such submergence. I do not posit a space of complete self abnegation. A balance is what i ask for. But what balance do i, with my own terror of self engulfing darkness, aspire to?
Solitude is an escape but only a provisional one. I need to gather my resources, husband my strength. Ultimately what i'm seeking, which this exercise of writing has, with surprising startlement, demonstrated is the reconfiguration of my own being in relation to the other. Solitariness is salutary only temporarily. It is the messy, sprawling world that spreads its anvil of intense experiences before me. I rush up, promptly, to meet it.

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