A Blank Page

My boss, Vince, saw it first.

“Hey! There goes a piece of paper blowing around! Wonder if it belongs to somebody?”

I turned to look, the white catching my eye, a full 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of paper that came to rest on the pavement outside the office.

“I’ll go grab it!”

My curiosity was piqued. Was it anything important?

I got to it before another autumn sweep of wind picked it up again. It was blank. Not one word written upon it.

I reached down and carefully picked it up, nodded, smiled, and brought it into the office, where I placed it on my desk. Took a quick photo with my phone.

Turns out that blank sheet of paper belongs to me. A gift with amazing possibilities-  to boldly take me to places no woman has gone before…

The countdown begins…3…2…1

I hope you find your own blank sheet of paper today.

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Lyrics from the song “Unwritten”

“I am unwritten, can’t read my mind, I’m undefined
I’m just beginning, the pen’s in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten”

Ascension

No stars existed
not one pinhole of light
in the black
expanse of time and
space, a galaxy removed
from planets and people
feelings and truth
an unlikely cocoon
where a latent image
appeared, flimsy and
unfocused,
a haze on the
negative I dared to
hold up to the light

I reached for the
magnifying glass,
hoping to define it
and words spilled out-
breaking the silent
void of my womb
letters floating and
now captured
with each click of
my pen to paper
the image clear,
defined,
my own reflection
with wings

I flew up
and out.

 

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The Third Day. HOPE.

After flinging my stone into the stream yesterday, I began my climb back up the steep hill. My hand hit something smooth. Flat. Unusual for this area.

I thought I was walking away empty handed.

I was wrong.

A piece of slate. Slate reminds me of writing. Words. I didn’t have chalk, but I did find white paint. And an old paintbrush.

Today I offer you a word.

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A word, an idea, a foothold, that can be found on the rough peak of a rock.

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The view is astoundingly beautiful.

HOPE.