I want you for a moment, to sit with me.
And find a silence.
And within that silence, I want you to completely forget yourself.
Like a blank slate, or a clean sheet of paper. Flawless potential.
Let your prejudices subside into a void. Allow your worries to dissipate like sunlight melting fog. See this blank slate as an amazing freedom.
No past issues or circumstances weighing upon you. No worries, or injuries to attend to. No burdens or questions clogging your mind. No assumptions to the preconceptions of others. Nothing, just clean, clear, potential.
Sit with this feeling, just imagine what that would feel like.
Perhaps you have a hard time imagining…
If so, grab a sheet of paper. Just stare at it. Ask yourself, “if I was a clean sheet of paper, what would I be doing right now? I would have no arms or hands, so I can not write on myself to make a list. I have no legs to get up and go somewhere else, like the printer tray.”
“I am only subject to a draft, perhaps blowing me off the table… or a human using me for something. Hmmm…how nice it must be to be a blank sheet of paper, just sitting there. No one expects anything of it. It has no job to do, until it is needed… Wow, a blank sheet of paper, has a pretty chill existence.”
Sit with that. Imagine, just laying there all bright and clean, and chill… no worries.
Okay, great, that is a place you should become familiar with. You may even find a little grin on your face, imagining the lackadaisical life of a piece of paper.
I mean not all paper has the same ends… right… like maybe you are a blank sheet of tissue paper… the kind that fills a gift. A package that brings a smile or a surprise. This is a great ends for a piece of paper and the person it serves… but alas, it still ends up in the trash.
You could imagine you are a piece of toilet paper… it also fills a package, but comes in very handy for several other uses, not all of which are very glamorous but are useful nonetheless. Still it ends up down a drain or in a waste basket.
You can imagine you are piece of drawing paper, that meets a hand that lays upon it beautiful sketches… or maybe less than refined strokes… and maybe that paper will sit on a fridge somewhere, or travel the world… or maybe it will end up in a closet, lost… or perhaps it will get burned or thrown away…
We are but pieces of paper, filling ourselves up to the very edges of the page. Ignoring that we are stuck inside an unfinished notebook. And while trying to get the most out of every minute, and every inch of potential space… we ignore how much we may be wasting, mindlessly doodling the alphabet or some such nonsense which leaves no space for the real purpose we began thinking about paper in the first place.