The experience of omniscience in floating a few inches off the ground. Being able to appear from scene to scene in the turn of a single instant. These are things that belong to an other worldly consciousness. To hovering entities that silently mark time in glance that remains frozen upon the collation plate glass of memory. Once that is reused and too often overwritten. Words on a printed page might be more lasting? The solidness of a domicile that was once inhabited but now has been claimed by strangers in the empty struggle for a better more secure life continued according to the popular notion of conventional. Every symptom of life as a page turned then barely recalled. It would seem to be easy to address it with a random set of names for that nuclear family that no one knows each of which trading in material objects of transfer long ago distributed to the trash heap. This royal kingdom that seems whole and a solid as a fully rational glance is unsubstantial, even though it has been visited from moment to moment, day to day. Small details interceding to aid the failing mind like mentally handy Scotch tape patching over missing elements. What an active prison this thing called consciousness?
I can still recall with repeatable precision the Lionel train set that evolved piece by piece upon the family living room floor at holidays. It origins dim as to the first time it appeared under the tree at one of the first December 25th’s that I had consciousness to attend. If memory can be trusted this ritual being performed in actuality for no more than ten Christmas’s at the most. Yet now cemented in immediate easy recall. Each part and element examined so many times is exquisite detail that I could accurately re-establish a facsimile of each today. Yet the material manifestation of same gone now for four decades or more. One would ask themselves who has built this hall of mirrors called human consciousness? How is it that a random wayward glance of almost any random assembly of objects can claim such perpetuity in the twin Camera Obscura of the jelly-like mechanisms of incarnation. The obsession of self cured handily by countless numbers of rivals each with a limited shelf life aware only of their own for most of the circular journey in place. Each a potential example of the other. Yet over the span of countless era’s barely able to claim identifiable membership much less and individual name in the perceived ‘grand scheme of things’.
The enigma of mental contradictions of size and time and identity demanding tacit acceptance yet not serving up a ready solution for that intangible thing asking questions. This sea of silent minnow’s struggling mid-ocean within a vast and uncaring net ever serving to take them from their home into the chaos of the process of being canned to sit upon a shelf with a date laser stamped on the side for final burial. Salt as a precious rare commodity dissolved in an ocean too vast to contemplate save but in rows of zeros uselessly summed up. That animal satisfaction of the abstract sensation known as love alternately termed affection in its more temporal form. Merchandised in categories based upon its persistence in our lives. Treated like a commodity in uneventful times but like the rarest most precious substance available when absent from our immediate vicinity. Contradiction in supply and demand and thus a disappointingly facile mechanism. Yet one that once defined by the dominant culture of the time more potent than any perceivable engine of destruction.
The impossible experience of inner and outer perceptions with one being a shadow play of the other. And the one given primary credence even more unattributable to anything but persistence by consensus. A new equation, perhaps a recitation of the old with a few numbers substituted or characters changed. One new line of same appearing on a screen right after that other crocheting thought in inferred continuities of singular identity of a complex being. The description of Godhood in the unrealizable realization of a single secret unpronounceable name that comes at random and then disappears in the next successive moment. The ability to ponder endlessly its own fatal maniacal engine of mutually assured self-destruction. How can animal fear expect to tremble long in such a maze? That ultimate surrender to constant daily annihilation of unused past the garbage man that comes to collect. For everything created another is destroyed. That is just how this existence phrases it, like an infinitive number of waves lapping to and fro on an eternally long endless beach.