I was sparked and sublimated by an awareness and obviousness not unlike remembering where I left my keys after endlessly looking. An obviousness so articulated that I didn't understand how I could have forgotten. It was irreconcilable to think I could ever have not known. Seeing in a flash of white flame immolating through gauze a moment palpable and real but until this moment as not-was as it now is was. Of course the keys are there. Of course that's where I left them. And that's what I felt when I remembered it, saw it again, after so much time. My center of mass stable only through the kinetic gyroscopic velocity of the consuming gauze and I thought, of course: My life is the dream of a partially fractalized octopus from the lost 6 dimensions.
That awareness one of the key points in my life when I understood things were changing for me.
I must have known it as an infant, maybe even a toddler. It must have been something understood by whatever method a young child would understand such a thing. So I knew it until I was 12 or 18 months old -- It then took over 43 years to remember.
Something lost inversely to development of language as the filter between experience and expression. But by overlapping with the development of the phenomena that dissipated it within my consciousness, it grafted with the suppression borne by language, grafted with the phenomena that then and now could never sample raw consciousness fast or deep enough to be able to express it, no matter how sophisticated language may seem to become. The knowledge grafted to the constructs of language allowing it to parasitically hibernate within the filters and obfuscations and downsampling and loss of resolution. Pastoral manifesting as a chronic sense of having forgotten something important.
Awareness blinding and vertiginous as an infinite feedback of all eternities. A migraine flash erasing a hole in a palpable mind space. A hole in a layer of 4 dimensional mind geography with a texture like tightly woven human hair and coffee grinds and black weather-molding foam. Memory a hole. I knew it as an obviousness as primal as the sound of my own voice or the way the rear of my teeth feel to my tongue or anything else that defines how I experience every moment of my life to the point that it simply is.