Ripened thoughts and seasoned wisdom blazing in my eyes!

Inaccessibility. The inaccessibility of me to myself was an interesting feeling that I have dug out from among the rudiments of lost thoughts. It’s like you are like a text subjected to varying interpretations. Each time the deconstruction would bring different meanings. One you overlap with another you and many layers of you will be hidden within a single you, like one text is a combination of different layers of meanings slippery and fluid. People change. And the fluidity in you may sometimes won’t take a shape. Inaccessible for an interpretation. Thoughts and feelings fail to amalgamate into one whole. “Unification of sensibility” giving way to its dissociation. There is only a fog and shadow. Quaint and oblivious.  

Immanuel Kant. Sublimity dismantles itself for a clearer view. A state beyond reason. The experience drowns you into an overwhelming terror.  Elevation. Wonder. Incomprehension. And I wonder what it would be like. Can sublimity be possible within the original thoughts itself? Can there be sublimity in discovering the fragility of your existence in a moment when elemental forces rips off your arrogance? Or is it simply epiphany? There are trees with demon shape and angelic vastness which often gives me a sense of elevation rather than a feeling of beauty. The mystery of creation.  Does the artist who creates totally be conscious of the sublimity that he is drawing in? The artist should melt in the creation, be the creation. And finally he gets alienated from the created. To stand away, breathless and wide eyed, admiration and awe winking at his heart, unable to comprehend his own creation. What a moment it would be! Isn't it itself sublime?

Coming of age. Some say they are never the same after immense suffering that they have encountered. They stops being silly. Stops being emotional. Their blaring emotions exploded too much within that there is calmness that comes out of it, Reason is their anchor, to fasten them to be firm in the dread and oceanic sorrow. I can only imagine what it would be like. May be not even imagining in its fullest sense. Nothing so tragic has happened in my life yet to be mature enough to stop being silly. My emotions float within me, venomous and evil to blind me from the serenity and compromise that comes out of the rational. I find beauty in it. May be something sublime that may occur in my life will transform that sense of beauty which according to Kant is an “indeterminate concept of understanding” to the Sublime which is “the indeterminate concept of reason”. And maybe I won’t be the same again. Ripened thoughts and seasoned wisdom blazing in my eyes :)

PS: Hangovers of Literary theory and criticism :p