The interception of mind between symbolic imagery, metaphors and words...

Art is not about the final result and as a paradoxical statement, there is no final result within the result, and that is sometimes the whole point. Art drives us inwards to reflect, perceive, conceive, to stir, to ponder, to contemplate, to foster the something else, to inoculate, to imagine. All the doors are flung open, like a worm hole through the internal images since the beginning of time. The chasm of history, the non-existing future, and the unknown are all mingling in a space of non-coherence to the rational aspects of the mind. Our reflective mood succumbs to the imagery before thought, our responsive reflex stands in the background putting the impulsive ego on idle, and our contemplation takes centre stage silencing intellectual dialogue. No final destination is known on a logical level. The mystery that resides within wonder expands in proportion to how lost we become inside something we have founded, and through the subliminal sphere we delve into the non-linear where our usual sequences of form have all but dissolved.

The interception of the mind during poetic episodes gathers the symbolic imagery that comes before thought and produces a coherent materialised description of those images, delivering the metaphoric value through language to bring the new insights

or awareness to the surface.. Poetry could be thought of as exploring the creation of uncreated worlds, where you pull deeply rooted awareness to the surface through symbols and language, the minds position is to contain parts of the uncontainable, the individual reader is the one who deciphers what the contents mean for them.

I hold contradictions as if they were a prerequisite to being a human. It seems like a true condition of the nature within, as it all starts and ends in questions, and a quest of continual becoming and unbecoming.

As I stumble into oblivion I unveil myself as an enigma, an absurdist, an existentialist, a mystic, a cynic, a sceptic, an empath, an objective idealist, and an aesthetic explorer. I see too many angles that don’t form concrete outcomes.. and I'm not confident enough to say I know the answer to any. The problem is that there are too many problems which contradict themselves purely by running alongside their counterpart. Standing alone they are sufficient enough, but when new ones arise it brings more problems and questions, too many questions with open ended answers, which is dangerous in its own right, and as G.K.Chesterton wrote, “I am incurably convinced that the object of the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to shut it again on something solid”. The philosopher explores to end up knowing without certainty but expresses it with with enough passion to convince, and a poet explores the certainty so much as to end up being unconvinced.. leaving the open ended threads loose enough for all to pull on. There is no other pairing as complementary as poetry and philosophy, at the core I'm sure they are the same thing just expressed through different channels.

Art is wisdom in that it communicates through the loop between a truth of transcendence to perception and makes it a material sense of that perception.. whether a feeling, a thought or idea. In the untouched form is where the beauty lies, the beauty of remaining still in its nature, within itself and for itself. Expanding upon it logically distorts it into shapes of our own choosing. Art is not a copy but rather an interpretive process of untouched bias, a connection unfolding the inner and outer. We bend and unify its meaning after the transcendence takes place.

The symbolic imagery arises to the poet before the words, the metaphor takes its place in tandem, or perhaps on the border of the symbolic imagery and the thoughts or forming of the words. Perhaps a harmony between the left and right brain takes place, fusing the function of both simultaneously, to synchronise the purpose and potentialities that usually go uninhabited in such a mundane rotation of everyday thought. Poetry and philosophy both unshackle the prison of limits and dive into a world of possibilities and potentialities.

The overlapping of complexities within any one thing make it difficult to see reality how it is, with poetic metaphor the poet can pierce through the complexities and slice it back to the singular, like a floating blanket hovering over the complete story, and gracefully landing onto the heart of those truths.. it is a unifier of connection, a messenger of a deeper truth that dwells within, perhaps like an infinite loop where the poetic relationship rotates from the inner to the outer and back again, and stands forever still in the background making silent noise.

Poetry is alive behind the lifeless, we just revive it into being for human inspection, to spark the awareness that lay dormant, to see the world through a new lens, to hear the crackle of the sun and feel the light of the moon, to see a whole world inside a flower that will never exist to the bee, to break open and mend close.

~Leya.

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