The Blank Page

An interesting, strange aspect I recently discovered was that everything fits in as it should.

However, human intelligence connives and plans, shifting things out of gear and making life uncertain and dubious.

Reflecting on this, my doorbell rang, and as I opened it, I was pleasantly surprised to see Janet.

Janet is my writer friend, who always comes in when she wants to unfold profound wisdom.

“Hi”, she greeted me with a sprite that spelt of unknown mysticism .

Her grit always attracted me, and joyously I welcomed her.

She told me that she was revisiting an idea for a story for her new book, and that was when an idea came in, suggesting she write a courtroom drama.

At once, on the rebound, was the thought, ” Oh, so familiar. Can’t you come up with another theme? said another, and no sooner was it gone, in came another. “Think out of the box,” and there was where she was stuck.

She reached home and sat by her table, switching on her computer, to type the title of her new book.

“OUT OF THE BOX”

“Wow, impressive ain’t it?” she thought again.

For a few days, she worked on it, wrote and rewrote. The enter and delete buttons played a significant role on her introductory page, for thinking out of the box couldn’t happen while she was thinking. “Thinking is boxed”, she thought, and that was where she was stuck again.

She stared at her writing and blanked out. The writing was original and totally hers.

But was she original or was she merely a bundle of her thoughts?

As she struggled to continue trying to amalgamate her thoughts into her writing, her fingers stopped typing, for she realised her writing was just a bundle of her thoughts.

She exited and entered a blank page..

And then, as she wrote fervently she saw herself typing, her fingers moving up and down the keyboard.

She was all there, present only to feel her presence, and beyond that, something had taken over.

What was it? She didn’t know, and surprisingly, nor did she want to.

She wrote for over two hours, and suddenly, the fingers stopped.

As soon as they ceased typing, she looked at the blank page, which was now filled up.

She read what was written and gaped in astonishment.

The typed words came from somewhere beyond.

Her work on that page was not hers, after all.

It was filled with how it was meant to be.

Just perfect and apt.

“It is as is, ain’t it?” So said a voice from the inner layers of her heart.

Was it her heart or the one lent to her from above?

The blank page had set a designed layout of a life beyond comprehension.

Who was she to comprehend, to decipher to plan what should be.

Instead was she in sync with a higher one?

The one that said ” Come along and we’ll create magic as we flow in sync”.

For once, she hadn’t lost, for she had nothing to cling to.

She was in the stream called life, and as her heart stood still, it was in unison,

with a higher will, prompting her towards freedom.

There was a freedom , and with it came an utmost need to reclaim her need for freedom of speech, expression, and a desire for justice.

The tall claims she made with a sense of purpose, proclaiming “And Justice For All”, were all drowned under the magic of a new dimension where she had to see and feel it as it was.

Suddenly, she was no longer the ship’s captain; she was one of the sailors who stood and obeyed the command of a higher authority.

A command she preferred to follow, for it was the one from above and the only one to set her free.

A realisation came in as she whispered silently, ” There was no blank page, instead it was me”.

I was the blank page, erasing everything: experiences, preferences, likes and dislikes, at the end of a chapter, bringing in a fresh new one. ” A blank page for a new start over.”