Waiting On The Page

 

It’s one of those days. Usually I come here via my journal, and by the time I arrive I have some thought or issue bouncing around inside my head so that when I get to this blank page, I have a general idea of what direction to take and just begin. The rest unfolds, many times surprising me more than anyone else. But, today I seem to be the blank page itself. Disconnected thoughts float through and I let them. Nothing concrete, just clouds moving through the landscape, but leaving no residue to hang onto.

I could leave and go do something else, but if I do that, I might never come back, and that thought frightens me. There is nothing that holds me here, nothing that forces me to stay, other than this blank page that needs filling. It is my choice to attempt to do that, and although I am more than willing, I still can’t come up with a subject that will interest me, let alone anyone else.

Even that statement isn’t quite true. There is something I do wish to write about, but when I try to focus in on it, the words simply disappear and the thoughts seem to run for cover, and everything goes blank like this page of paper. A blank piece of paper can be so intimidating. It’s innocent of any wrong doing, and yet seems to have pointing fingers, chiding remarks that rise silently, fast becoming a dark cloud that simply hovers waiting to drop a storm that never really comes to fruition.

On the flip side, a blank sheet of paper is an open invitation, whispering of untold fulfillment to be had with simple action. It’s a promise waiting to be filled, a journey, a path yet to be discovered, a story never told awaiting its own unfolding. The only thing involved is a bit of risk, a chance taken that might, or might not, go somewhere. Might lead anywhere. And that anywhere is what stops the action necessary to proceed.

Anywhere means without specific destination. What if I end up in the one place I don’t want to be? What if it takes me to one of those dark corners where the shadows move for no reason, and one just barely catches the sound of something that might be breathing? Shudder at the thought. Maybe I should run now, think later.

But anywhere could also be a bright space of sunshine and laughter. If I run, I would miss all of that. The moment would be lost, possibly never to come again. And that would be just plain sad. It might hold a lesson I have been seeking to learn for years, and my fears would cheat me of that opportunity. That would leave me ignorant, blank, once again, just like this sheet of paper. What exactly is this sheet of paper trying to tell me?

Dear Writer,

you come to me filled with ideas, and I wait to accept any and all you wish to say, think, feel. I see your hesitation and can only greet it with hope. I will never be fulfilled unless you begin. I hold only this one purpose, but I need you to act before that purpose can be satisfied. I long to carry your burdens, share them with you, for that would give me shape, form, and dimension. But, unless, or until you act, I possess none of those things. I am simply empty, so I mutely stare back at you and plead for your mercy.

Yes, I am a beggar, without pride or even distinct purpose. I long to be filled, given a reason for existing. Not only am I strong enough to hold and carry your burdens, but I can and will encompass all of your joys as well. Help you celebrate even the smallest of these, and do that gladly and with deep gratitude. I can help you in so many ways, to remember specific days, moments, and experiences. I can teach you things you never dreamed, give you more experiences than you have ever imagined. All of this and so much more. But none of this will come to pass unless you move, act. So, I have no problem imploring you to take me, use me, fill me up, and in the process I will become more than I have ever been or could hope to be.

I would be your friend. Do that gladly and extend your world exponentially. You speak of fear, that I frighten you. Don’t you realize that the fear will only grow each time you say no to me? Become as solid as a brick wall you are incapable of climbing? You can run away, but be certain you will have to keep running forever. Is that what you really want? Really?

Fear must be faced, confronted. That is another of my purposes. I will be here, with you as you move into those dark and shadowy places. I will be your friend and help you attend to whatever you find there. But, again, that is all up to you. You are the main ingredient and I am just a tool.

So, use me, abuse me if you must, I don’t care, after all that is exactly what I am here for. And I can make you a promise, one that I can keep forever. I will never speak out of turn, never chide you, never point a finger, I don’t own them. The only speaking I will ever do is that which you allow me. I alone am nothing, just a sheet of paper, your humble servant awaiting your bidding.

With a great deal of gratitude, I am and will remain,

Forever Filled

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About 1sojournal

Loves words and language. Dances on paper to her own inner music. Loves to share and keeps several blogs to facilitate that. They can be found here: https://1sojournal.wordpress.com/ http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/ http://claudetteellinger.wordpress.com/
This entry was posted in changing the end of the story, Choice, fear, Waiting On The Page, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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