Writing on a Blank Paper

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The sound of the nib as it merges with the blank paper, the friction it creates that casts spells of magic in all of its content and the ecstatic anticipation of what will occur as they merge into one: this… is my writing. Not my exact way of writing, but the writing that unfolds within my writing. Like bright speckles of light that glow in each words, as it flows freely from left to right, creating a symphony of rhythmic dance without even knowing that you’re already dancing your way to finishing a story, a piece of poetry or maybe just random lines like this one.

Allowing. You just allow it. This is how a writing unfolds within a writing. Something else that’s quite hard to define or label was commanding you to write in the most artful of ways that the confinements of your own mind couldn’t even fathom the depth it creates. Often times, you even surprise yourself.

How magical. How splendid. How ideal. Does it happen all the time? No, it does not.

That harmony sometimes goes haywire and out of balance. And more often than not, the more you want to write, the harder the words come out. The blank paper sometimes stay blank, and you stay staring at it for even hours. Clicking the head of the pen, watching the nib goes in and out of its body, with a soothing sound that calms your insides as you wait for the magic that usually takes place. But no, there are times when the fairy muse doesn’t show up to wave her wand of magical congruence unto your hand.

I know this very well. I had magical moments where a writing happens within my writing. A powerful manifestation of visions. A natural flow. A beautiful alignment that even surprises you with one synchronicity after another.

And there are “unmagical” moments too, where nothing takes place, where nothing seems to fit, where i feel stuck in my own head, but i write anyway. I get on with it. And i don’t give up.

You gotta keep writing too. Whether on a literal sense or on a metaphorical, more in depth way, it’s yours to take. Write your own life on a blank paper each day. Some days it will be easy-peasy and violà there’s your piece of story to tell. But some days it will be hard. You might be stuck too. You might even hate yourself for not knowing what to do. But there’s beauty in it. And I don’t need to elucidate for you what this beauty meant. You’ve got to find it for yourself—like how i constantly write on a blank paper—whether in the flow or not, learn to love it equally, as it both serves a purpose to our own personal mastery.

Cicadas

“Connecting more. Moment to moment, moment to moment, slowly breathing in its core.”

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The cicadas are calling me. Their song is asking me to listen in. As i seek for the meaning of its buzzing, i found harmony and peace. From the perfect sound of its clicking paired with the awareness that thickens and deepens. Connecting more, moment to moment, moment to moment, slowly breathing in its core.

The cicadas are here, to remind us of our calling. To speak our truth and to follow our own life song that directs us from the beginning. The beginning was the word, they say, hence words shall be said. Activating the power of our throat, to say what we mean and mean what we say. To come from a source of authenticity instead of masking. Of vulnerability instead of hiding. Of love rather than fear. No matter how clichéd, I’ll keep using this phrase. For Love is the answer, and in Love, I will never stop believing.

Wrote this after my evening meditation in the woods. Just random thoughts from a quite random mind that needs some quieting thru stillness, silence and mindfulness. 😌