There’s something quite enchanting about darkness,
The mystical facets of childhood fairytales seem to tie endless lengths of string around breathless moments and pull them into a continuum of wondrous nostalgia. Those moments will never be the same—frozen, pulsing with resonant light. Perhaps it’s the lack of words which desperately yearn to escape from the confines of the speaker’s lips or the boundless concept of life pouring into the lower part of the hour glass, like the ever-evolving sands of time that causes a moment to stay perfectly imperfect. Maybe it isn’t.
Either way, as soon as something is spoken it dissipates into the air around it; it taints the energy it lives in.
When a moment is lived, it no longer exists and all that remains is the dance of vague moving images to inaudible, non existant music.
As I sat in the battered, brown chair—underneath the dull grey light which poured through the charity shop window—the ramblings of the shop floor’s very few occupants tumbled past my eardrums and numbly occupied my mind. “It’s not winter yet, is it. It’s still autumn.” The observant,curious intonation of Dean’s voice danced through the air. It made me release a subconscious chuckle. I thought that much was obvious—crumpled, golden leaves gathered in the corners of damp pavements.
When I look up at the multitude of colours in the sky,as they scatter themselves across the clouds, my mind wanders to that place of perpetual summer, where one spends endless nights running through fields as the sun sets or listening to the white crests of ocean waves kiss the sand as my lungs fill themselves with fresh, salty, sea air. To be present in a moment of transendental awe. ‘Tis wonderful to experience that visceral sense of glittering hope which one feels while gazing upon New York City, from the phallic structures which dominate the sky; to remain suspended in a seemingly perpetual oblivion—between the wordliness of ants and oceans of paper-induced adrenaline rush and the ambiance of a celestial realm which caress’ one’s spirit in hope of incarnating an intrinsic comfort to a being which symbolises the universe in ecstatic motion. ‘Tis the flow of energy. That’s what summer means to me; to relish in one’s own consciousness while simultaneously transcending beyond the realm of the proverbial box of human civilization; ‘Tis the transient being transcended.
So as the season shifts and time recedes before our eyes the realm of my mind also shifts to the dewy, autumn mornings when the water-speckled blades of grass bath in the cold, opaque sunlight; the lustrous radiance of the golden christmas lights dance with the buzz of warmth and elation which fills the air of the market; the heavily celebrated bass, electro dance and pop music of long summer nights, on the beach, is turned down and replaced with the soft lull of lounge piano, by the fire. The sticky mouths of children guzzle liquid chocolate and sweet pink fluff underneath the sprinkling of colours of the fairground Ferris wheel. Steaming, polystyrene cups of mint and green mushy peas fill frozen hands and soft knitted wool cuddles running red noses as stars explode, in the sky, above the bonfire. As ice cube moulds and transparent jugs are shoved into a cardboard box, shop shelves are filled with a multitude of selection boxes and tubs filled with foil covered glory. ‘Tis a blessing in disguise when denim ‘Levi’ shorts and string-tied bathing suits remain in the back of the wardrobe and knitted Christmas snowmen, on jumpers, take their place.
What a wonder it is to ponder upon the confusion of shifting seasons; how one era dissipates and melts into the next; how time recedes before our very eyes. Our minds remember fragments; our existence is fragmented. All that exists is subjective and exists in our minds. When we remember our childhood, we imagine snapshots and photographs; we imagine fragments of what has been. So when we imagine our concept of winter and autumn—our mental schemata—we see images and remember sensations which we associate with these phenomena—otherwise known as classical conditioning. Take moments with yourself to imagine that which tickles your senses; that’s what matters in life—it recedes anyway.
“The simulacrum is never what hides the truth—it’s the truth that hides the fact that there is none. The simulacrum is true.” ~ Ecclesiastes
I find it extraordinarily fascinating to delve into the concept that the world we live in is made of seven billion perceptions; that’s all it is—just one giant brain. As each set of eyes gaze up at the night sky, they perceive a different shade or aspect of what is essentially a singular existence. Every inkling or thought which has ever existed in one’s mind is what makes up the universe. Our reality—the insensate tranquillisation of our minds through trivialities like media, work and routine—is the immediate happenings of our life and how we perceive them; our reality is the simulacrum because we learn—to read, write and the way of which we must life our lives for the rest of our existence—in a clinical environment which is essentially a distorted imitation of the truth. We imitate imitations of the truth of our existence on this planet; we copy a distorted and defiled copy of the truth.
The seven billion perspectives of life merge together to create truth and in doing so actually convince us that our perspective is the truth; we blindly believe that our perspective is the only ‘correct’ one. Our personal perspective and the several angles of which we look at life acts as a veil over our consciousness; it hides the idea that not one of us is correct because the brain of human existence consists of a large orb of perspectives; the human existence consists of seven billion angles of which we perceive our life and how they interact with each other to create reality. We’ve created the simulacrum—a defiled distortion of truth—by living our lives among seven billion others and letting the two merge together.
So I’ve established that our perception of life veils the idea that the brain of human existence is only a cocktail of billions of other angles of truth. Now I bet you’re thinking “Why is this relevant?” If intelligent human existence is just several angles and layers of truth, combined, then your input into the world is imperative to how the truth of human existence evolves. You are important. Your expression of truth and your angle of viewing the life you live is going to affect how someone else lives there’s. When people talk about the future, they always seem to think that it’s somewhere in the distance; they separate it from the here and now. They have this distorted view that one day they will wake up and the future will have unexpectedly arrived. Let me tell you, it won’t just arrive. Everything you do now, every move you make and every word you say is a stepping stone to who you will be. Always visualize who you want to be and walk towards it now. no-one can stop you but you; no one can make you give up who you are meant to be so pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start walking again because the path isn’t going to shorten and transport you to your imagined life; you won’t wake up and have a future. All you have is now so make it count for something.