This sort of clarity may be transcendental, a pinnacle of mindfulness, attained through meditative practice. She has experimented with techniques of this sort in the past but always found herself unable to arrive at such a plane of heightened consciousness. There were always traces, tainting whatever extent she was able to dip towards. These extensions are always vertical. It is for this reason in part she finds the previous evening’s encounter with this uncommon potential so arresting. In truth, she abandoned hope of ever arriving at such a plane, this sealed, sonorous enclave whose presence she felt the other evening so palpably, believing that, saturated with received detritus, the mind and imagination were simply irreparable. It was as if for a moment during the course of this psychological flight she had somehow outrun those traces, as if by some unmediated chance these things had for an instant been swept away, lifted, thus revealing some otherwise concealed, nigh subterranean, subcutaneous firmament. In phenomenological terms, the potential state she has broached might be attributed to a denomination of entities prefixed ur- or pre-, an ur-phenomenon, some kind of pre-state, all implying potential, hence her consternation. But why? There is something else. If she were to grasp this potential, would experience itself not taint it? Thus the melancholic tinge of all idealist reveries, the unimpeachable sovereignty of Utopias. She has no time for this. Nonetheless, she feels compelled to pursue it. Suppose what she came upon then was a backdrop – a mental green-screen –perpetually manifest, albeit clothed in the images it offers their basic substance. It isn’t impossible. There was certainly something warmly known about its glow, as if it had been there darkly all along, pervading every other room, each trace, infusing the echoes of her memory with its inaudible frequencies. Her compulsion to pursue it therefore stems not from curiosity alone, but indicates rather some fundamental, inborn need. Yes, it is necessary she find it, necessary she look upon it, even from a distance. If she is correct and this purity does indeed constitute the basic support of all subsequent accrual, if she were able somehow to come closer, mightn’t this prove a remedy for her dissatisfaction with the atrophy of her imagination? When she returns to the room he is standing by the window. She moves over unconsciously. Everything reduces to the pulse of his silhouette growing nearer. Sound, tactile sensation, her weight against the floor, all this disappears until she finds herself behind him. A bird calls. She rests her chin on his left shoulder, her hand upon the right. He lifts his left arm, crossing his chest. His palm caps the ridge of her knuckles, enveloping her hand in warmth. She closes her eyes. Fragmented light and the feel of his smooth back against her chest for a moment consume her perceptual world entirely. Attuning to the rhythm of his breaths, she rests there thoughtless. Perhaps it would be like this?
Posted on: Sun, 21 Jul 2013 11:30:36 +0000
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