What delightful ideas a fragrant dell of fern can arouse in me, they can be quite profound. I never cease to feel incredibly impressed upon, at our every encounter, induced as I am to pause along the banks of their piquant scent and drink of them with my entirety. They thrill the senses, seduce the soul; their earthy balm spell-binds the mind while their stalks and fronds trick the eyes with intricate, imbricate form, and on their lures of repetitious hooks, I submerge — Patterns. From within my subconscious folds, I dart through this thicket of impetus for the recognition of pattern, for an external familiarity that might echo an internal imaging of understanding; I seek out to match within, find meaning within by looking out.
And so I go, not at my own behest, but at request from beyond the realms of self attended intention. Ensnared in reticulate abstraction of form reformed, I sense so subtle an urge, a hushed desire being whispered aloud, to see within these discernible patterns of familiarity a hidden expression of novelty, of newness; I yearn to glance upon some color or curve, some angle or bend that will change me, some movement that will move me, some clamoring note that will upend the notion of what is already known to me, already recognized within me, as me — Progression. If identifying the comforting familiar is a confirming impulse of previous existence in the present past, then this stimulating probing for the novel is a throbbing impulsion for continuity into the future present, a step in the progression of evolution, enmeshed in the web of ever-present presence.
Slipping further into the quickened sands of contemplation, I become curiously acquainted with my own patterned state, helplessly aware that I too am forged of myriad motifs in overlapping flaps in formation, of patterned pulses of existence, of stylized systems of physics and biology, of physiology and psychology, of spirit – I am a figure of transforming consciousness simultaneously imprinting and being imprinted upon, abrew in an inextricable milieu of unfolding structures about me — Interconnection. Interwoven, I see now, we are patterns within patterns; a man amid the ferns, the ferns about the man, intersecting lines of design on a page we become a single living thought pattern, an evolving interpretation of existence through perception, a combined cry from the womb of imagination, a seamless draft drawn from the ceaseless river of creation.
It is from these interconnected depths I emerge, an earth-bound return to the sense of self, dispelled as if by the silent strike of a bell from where I had been held so firmly, secluded in the gaps between the ferns, suspended in pockets of time-space sewn within the loose threads of the fabric of life, a fabric freshly stamped in exquisite patterns of living presence. New leaves sprout among the dying; from the original pattern, all variation is born — all forever changing, all forever being changed.
Thought patterns: A meditation between the ferns.
By Jason Weaver,
Submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse~Poets Pub. Thank you all for taking the time to read and contemplate and perhaps even to comment, sincerity is always accepted and returned in kind. ~Peace, Jason
Edited for clarity from the original posting