I was staring at the flame of the candle, trying very hard to focus . I was endeavouring to suspend my consciousness by fixing my gaze, or should i say fixating it, where it reposed with impassive fixity, while trying to fix myself, getting myself fixed for a better state where a certain stability would be a permanent fixture.
Ironically the harder i tried to concentrate the more disoriented i became. In trying to blank my mind into a state of nothingness and blankness i stared , stared at that something that would get me to a state where there was nothing. My eyes burned, the flame flickered and wobbled. Tears gathered at the edges of my eyes and threatened to spill over. As they slid the flame became a blur, as though i was seeing it through a mist. It was an insinuation of the penumbral in the incandescent.
Meanwhile my brain heated up. In trying to concentrate on focusing i became obsessed with the processing of focusing so my focus was derailed and worsened by the trials my unfocussed eyes were experiencing so much so that the focal point, which by now had vanished, became unknowable. Was the flame an instrument of self transcendence or was the frame or body the instrument through which the flame peregrinated its steely, conflagarated and metaphysical apotheosis. The flame was what it was and i am what i am. Intermingling seemed impossible and the stasis non being/higher being required as its inherent precondition was a lasso i flung out into the wilderness except that what i caught was empty space. Fire is light , the sun is fire. But fire burns and i was apprehensive about my sinning, fallible soul being sunburnt. I imagined its pinkish round expanse pockmarked by a scorching black mark ,like a spot on the lung that has been overexposed to smoking.
I could blow out the candle. I could douse it with water from a jug. I could snap it into emptiness by slamming my palm on it which does seem enticing given that it will leave that round black spot which i will emblazon as a mark of triumph for my zealous circumvention of spiritual flim flammery. Or in a moment of self abandonment set the whole apartment on fire and burn with it. Or i could just let the candle be worn down to its end, the wax melting, dissolving and lumped in a dense round thicket having exhausted its pyromania. And the pleasure scraping off the wax, though they do get stuck in the fingernails. The whole thing is a bother because the cleaning up will be ineluctable even if i meditated successfully.I don't see this botched attempt as a failure though it has left a crimson smudge on my self complacence. I might try again. And frankly if i do have to try again i must remember to buy scented candles.