Saturday, April 4, 2015

THE ANTECHAMBER OF MEMORY

I had had a moment of contretemps, in a dream. I recalled it now. My face was flushed, my heart beat fast. Blood raced through my body. And my mind was in a tumult. To calm down, focus, in a rather unfocussed way, to relinquish this dream memory and direct my train of thought to a more conducive channel was my thought. And thoughts, i do find, with sufficient will ,can be made to assume the form one's mind creates for them. It is as though the mind is a vessel into which, with its predetermined form, consciousness is both enclosed and shaped. Clearly such an exercise requires prodigious skills in blotting out the extraneous. Such a process also necessitates a willed, wilful obliteration of unsavoury intimations. No doubt in some deeper vault all of this stuff churns but in my mind, at this conscious juncture, foreclosure is the modus operandi .
The unbidden nature of memory, or involuntary memory is often spoken about. But what i find most extraordinary is the mind's ability to, even without, external stimulus, like in a vision or an apparition, materialize things deemed long forgotten. Is there, perhaps an antechamber where all our memories lie entombed? Is there a part of our mind that has a record of everything? Clearly such a realm, even if existent, is indiscernible to a rational, empirical perspective. Yet none of us remembers everything down to its most infinitesimal detail. As the experience, transformed into memory, surfaces it seems as though it is not surfacing as much as being funnelled. There is the original and there is this recollection. They are both similar yet dissimilar. What strikes me is how, very often, details which the conscious mind, while experiencing the experience, fails to capture are in their subsequent recollection delineated with a greater clarity.Texture, hue, detail which are then registered subliminally are refocused on with a more lucent clarity. So sometimes the recollection may be more piquant than the original.
If i allow myself to dwell of my dream memory contretemps i will recall, without obfuscation and without the haze of the tenebrous somnolence, the actual dream or memory. And i conflate the two simply because the dream betokens to an experience my memory is prefiguring. The possibility of this dream becoming a potential component memory is highly likely. What i seek, from this dream, is also a realization of an unconscious wish. Do i then, by deeming the wish articulable, make it a reality or do i, by self restraint, push it into a subconscious dimension? And does it stay there the way it is? A memory can be wistful and valedictory by virtue of encompassing that which never happened though was wished for fervently. Inner and outer blur imperceptibly. All that matters,in a sense, to coalesce the two is action. Acting out is what i seek, most assiduously, to circumvent, even avoid altogether.
But what discomposes me is a certain contretemps that might happen. I have given him, unwittingly,an impression of permeability with regard to him. I wish i had exercised circumspection, let him know that he couldn't thus assume my pliability . I alternate between a willed imperturable gravity and a feverish excitement. I dreamt, after all, of an already latent possibility, with a not inconsiderable veracity to true life. So as i had dreamt so do i both desire and negate at the same time, the possibility of a kiss.

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