Three ambiguous, allusive, and vastly complex aspects of the human experience defined through my eyes.
The body is a solid object, claiming space and desiring to be seen, but the soul, or the essence of the body, is liquid. It bleeds through facial pores, purges from the salivating mouth, and leaks through the saltwater tears, which pour from the body’s honest and inevitably exposed eyes. The body is a vessel, a casing, a vehicle driving towards a gateway. A gateway whose passage is necessary for the experience of touch, of smell, of taste, to hear, and to see. The body sheds, morphs, grows, transforms. Its lifespan is a metamorphosis, shedding according to the skin, which it newly falls into. Time is a collection of the body’s past skins. The skin is a display of time spent where the body is a subset of the soul, without which it wouldn’t exist, couldn’t exist, fails to exist. But somehow, the body doesn’t know the soul. The body is too consumed with the aspect of its vehicle, the solidity and tangibility of form, or the promise that when its eyes look into the mirror a reflection of its figure will stare back, acting as a reminder that it is known. Because, what is seen is known, but what is unseen is felt and that there is the soul. No one body can know another’s felt experience of the liquid dwelling inside it, pouring from it, leaking through it. The soul, therefore, must be accepted by them, by us, and by me, and when accepted only then may I be known.
The mind is a multifaceted layered collection of terrain only one has access to. Layers which interact with one another and can exist simultaneously. Meaning, the mind can stand among a mountain range overlooking jagged peaks outlining deeply complicated trains of thought while simultaneously swimming through a vast ocean, an endless abyss of never ending motion and fluidity. The waters become the strength, the assurance that the mind will never fail to communicate with the heart to beat or the lungs to breathe. Just as the tides won’t fail to remain connected with the rhythm of the tides. The mind is speckled with nooks and crevices unique to its own unseen experiences which remain separate, except under the construct of time. Because, the nooks are impressions of memories and the crevices are icicles of frozen moments in time. The two together, forever altering the geography of the mind’s terrain. What once may have been a hillside becomes a scorched mound with a single strike of lighting or a lake evolves into a raging river as the ground shakes. As what once was complete truth, as true as the beating heart, becomes a crumbling façade of false beliefs. The point is that the mind has no absolute foundation, no starting point. It exists as a subject to memory but with no beginning or end, a constant motion that ensure the interaction of experiences. But, a foundation is not what memory is either, but it is a variable to the disrupted geography. It takes the blank slate offered to you and marks it over and over again and as time passes the marks become molds and the molds become masses and the masses mountains and mountains give way to valleys so great in number that even the most dedicated explorer would fail to visit them all. The landscape shifts as experiences comes to fruition and there lies the formation of the never ending layered complexity of thought, of unconscious, of re-experience, of the profound ambiguity that is the mind.
Beat. Pound. Thump. The sensations ricochet through the esophagus and into the mouth. The heart sits, blocking the airway. A ticking clock accelerated exponentially, offering insight into the unraveling of moments. The heart knows when to displace itself and leap from the facetted casing within the chest cavity. Seeing something in another individual that reflects a piece of it, resonating with the genetic makeup of the muscular tissue is when the heart detaches from the artery in the center of the chest and sucks itself carefully through the narrow veins, into the hollowed chilled space of the lungs, across the empty cavern of a depleted stomach, and upstream atop the delicate lining of the esophagus, to sit and block the breath. Because, blockage of air is the sensation of shock, of awe, of understanding and, that there, is the unseen aspects to the muscle in one’s chest. It first moves in tandem of an intuitive sense that another heart possesses a sliver of knowledge that this heart has yet to acquire and there in the sacred exchange of this knowledge connection is built. Connection being the act that fosters the anatomy of the heart. The heart is understood to be constructed of valves and pumps and veins and arteries, a biological, written, and scientific understanding of a universal piece of information. Yet, it is also understood as the source of passion, beliefs, and purpose. Allowing the dichotomy to exist that the heart is both understood and unable to be understood. Being infinitely complex, displaying an array of responsibilities inquiring about the basis of human nature, and also the source of our biological understanding of how life is sustained for the body. Unseen and seen. Intuition among fact. Both being universally accepted as the explanation for the physical and emotional experiences which unfold in the dance through time. The portrait of such a carefully woven aspect of ourselves must be broadened past the definitive to expand further into the realm of faith, of breath, of meaning, and of purpose.