Ode to the Blank Page and the Blinking Cursor

The imagination skips, delights, stymies.  

There are untold realms of thought, flights of fancy.  

There is no limit.  

Where to?  Where to?  

Now what?  Now what?  

Innocently blinking all the possibilities and yet none.  

There can be depth, there can be tall tales, there can be truth, or falsities.  

There is only all of forever and no time like the present.  

This one blinking moment, this one blank page, 

These empty moments of reflection, these echoing vast chasms of randomness, 

The long hallway of elongating possibilities, the daunting thought of choosing just one path, 

Laying one brick down, pulling one word at a time.  

The action of typing, deleting, a thought begins and is erased, 

In the span of time between the thought and the key stroke, 

Self-doubt creeps in and you remain…

The forgiving, patient, unjudging blinking cursor…

If only I can learn your lesson.  

Seize the moment, type away, type nonsense, type gibberish.  

Type profound insights, type myself into existence, 

Reinvent my spirit with charming skills, 

Reinvent and co-create a fantasy more delightful and more engaging, 

Escape my personal eye and accusing finger.  

There is no should here, only could. 

Type what you will, at your own risk!

Beware the joy!  Beware the bliss!

And whether you share it or keep it tight, 

You and I know there is an infinite blinking abyss…

Fall into myself, discover what’s been left behind, 

Uncover the hidden fears and invent solutions to made-up knots and problems. 

Self-indulgent, perhaps.

Or perhaps in all senses it is touching self.  

What are we if not ideas, dreams, fears, fantasies, and goals?  

We can only articulate to some degree, but in whatever degree we can articulate, 

Thus we embrace another wrinkle, another layer, and an alternate real self. 

There are dark and light aspects, 

Yin and yang, 

Joy and sorrow, 

Fear and courage, 

Shame and guilt, 

Pride and weakness.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Don’t blink, or you’ll miss it…

What is the space between the blinking line?

Beat. Line. Beat. Line. Blink. Beat. Line. Beat. Blink.

There is…a parallel universe…hidden among the blinks.

For every word that can be typed, as it is typing, there is a parallel alternate keystroke.

What is that other girl day-dreaming tonight?

Is there a mirror we can both touch?

Just on the other side when I see a line, does she see a blank? Is she a half-sec ahead or behind?

Would she giggle to see me?

My sister in possibility…

I hope someday we meet…