I don't wish to challenge the doc-
trine of living in the moment as a
recipe for some vitality of consci-
ousness. I do wish to commemorate,
on the other hand, the many layers
of which one is conscious, in that
consciousness, of diverse moments,
occurring simultaneously. Notice a
guy, exploiting a tablet in traver-
sing a court, the shadow axis of a
roofline of tiles meticulously con-
tinuing the grouting in the bricks
behind him, as shadow intersects a
corner of his plinth, an arm exten-
ded as if the conductor who he is,
were orchestrating the light about
him. How does he wish to progress?
It's when one feels this way, that
Summer's dispensation of time sug-
tance to Marcel Proust. Yet, this,
too, is but one consideration con-
tending companionably in the mind,
even as a harbinger, sometimes, of
its antitheses' alluring elements.
Besides, we've cited an engagement
I don't mean to dispute the wisdom
of living in the moment; I'd only,
rather, propose living for all the
moment's constituents. The moments
teem with their appeals, roil with
precious or capricious claims; and
the genius of Summer is to sustain
their percolation in our conscious-
ness, every layer contributing its
necessary suggestions to the score
we know we are composing as we go.
All this churns my obvious reverie
as a pursuit of mussed time, as in
all things, up to a point. If Sum-
mer is not the essential splash of
light upon this conduct, between 2
axial shadows, of past and future,
then I misunderstand the riches of
living in the moment. But I do not
feel alone.
i Raymond Dépardon photo
undated
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