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A Blank Piece of Paper January 11, 2016

Posted by Yvonne in Dynamics of Resistance, Indirect Approach.

She sat before a blank piece of paper. A creative writing project was to be turned in. Something was bothering her. It was blocking her. She tried to think of beautifully creative scenes, wonderful people and fantastic lives of story-book characters. The need and want to write something beautiful throbbed within her, but was overruled by the drudgery of her everyday life. It was told her, “Write of what you know.” She felt void like a deep empty cavern and wondered of what it was she knew.

Her mind set itself wandering about the bottom, at the deepest part of the canyon that she pictured as her soul. At first it stood stricken at the narrowness of the place. It crawled forward, fearful of what it might run into, but eager as it was always about something unknown. Her mind stumbled in the beginning. It gathered courage and gaped as it found that the narrow cavern her mind had once perceived expanded to enormous proportions as it walked.

As her mind rambled along through her soul, it observed many wonderful things. Some were new and others, so ancient they were nearly impossible to discern from the stone walls of the canyon.

As her mind wandered it began to feel at home as it adjusted to the shadow cast by some unseen projection, for the cliffs appeared to vanish. Presently, her mind felt itself so engrossed by the things it perceived that it quite forgot what it had come to do.

Numerous memories inhabited the canyon. Flashes of countless days spent lying on a patch of grass sat latent within a grove of lifeless trees that had lost the fruit of innocence. A pool of water held the cherished reflection of a life once dreamed of. Occasionally her mind came upon a bud plucked from the earth before it had the chance to blossom. These flowers were those of compassion and tenderness. The truth invaded her mind. She knew that she did not allow herself to be compassionate and at that moment she learned compassion. She felt relieved. Her mind rubbed it’s eyes as a small ray illuminated the now endless soul.

As it walked, her mind learned, and the rays grew. She knew, and she knew that she knew. She experienced great joy in the satisfaction she found. She realized that her soul was not merely a deep empty cavern, but discovered the realistic nature of it. She learned that her soul was indeed a meadow of ever unfolding beautiful scenes, wonderful memories, and fantastic storybook characters. She did not have to pretend; she wrote of what she knew – how all this came about, before a blank piece of paper.

Note: This I wrote in 8th grade English class with Mrs. Tarpinian. It seems particularly apropos these days.



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