I can see how there could come a point where all that counts are life’s nuances. Everything else is so self-evident it is tedious to contemplate. I would say at that point knowledge has definitely been transcended, and nuance is just another word for wisdom—or delight. Meaning the sweetest, richest, most pleasurably intense life there is. A life where absence is conterminous with presence, and both are swallowed by a shift of air that does the greatest thing that could ever be done to time: negates it.
In that negation the nuance, by which alone life’s value any longer is judged, shines with an eternal light. Meek and unassuming as a natural breath, it is powerful enough to create, annihilate and recreate worlds within and worlds without.
It has become what you live for: the ripest fruit of consciousness. The delectation of awareness. The sensation of standing on the threshold between life and death, time and eternal—a threshold without a door so that you can see (or it feels as if you can) equally well on either side of it.
That may be an illusion, but the nuance is real as the blood in your veins. In fact, it is that blood. It circulates meaning in whatever about you is pure life, pure affirmation, pure yes to the universe. As an organic event, whether in thought or gesture, the nuance is by definition affirmation of life; otherwise it would have no value, no reason to be, and one might as well live like an automaton. Those who do not call that living are the harvesters of the nuance and the tasters of its wisdom and delight, sensate as it is abstract, compelling as it is subtle.
I find I experience the nuance best not as an esthetic property alone, but as a shift in the air I breathe. I feel it as deeply as I may be thinking it; it’s every bit visceral as mental, as emotional as it is thought-provoking. Not as an isolated event, but experienced in the context of its delivery, whatever may be creating the conditions for it. Nuances are what ultimately refine my consciousness and bathe me in the poetry of life.