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Jan. 26, 2005 The blank page is more daunting than a blank Mind. That’s preposterous, I say to myself, my Mind is never blank. Perhaps for a few seconds, even then it is only a momentary freezing of thoughts, possibly due to an overload of information or a meditative pause for self-healing. One thought at a time, I tell it, but my Mind is a rebel with no cause. It is like a rogue monkey that attempts to explore the endless jungle. It leaps from tree to tree, rustling the leaves and tasting the many fruits along its way. It digs deep into the past, pondering over every branch it rested upon, reburying the bad fruit and cherishing the good. Often it comes to a stand still, ceasing to move and meandering in the present moment. It stands and stares at a panorama of words, of thoughts. Or worst, a transparent clearing, a blank page. In the present, it finds itself rooted but tiresome. It turns idle. When it is idle, the Mind is a devil’s workshop. It builds worry and problems by sawing each tree into pieces, hammering it together and painting it with a daub of regret. The Mind is then discontented with its masterpiece and soon turns restless, again. Life is not very satisfactory it concludes. Perhaps if things were different, or different directions were taken, I would be on a better path. With such unnecessary twists and turns, the Mind leads itself into a dead end. Fickle and erratic, it soon leaps to better amusements. All is not lost, for in a miraculous revival, it catches a glimpse of the sun rising in the distance. Imagining bigger and taller trees with juicier and sweeter fruits, the Mind becomes hopeful. It continues to soar, from tree to tree, reaching for that perfect page in life. It has given itself an ambition, a vision, and many dreams. On the way to fulfilling its dreams, it fails and encounters disappointment. Always, there are distractions. The mind is easily dissuaded. It comes upon delightful trinkets, pretty flowers of distraction and begins to desire more of the colourful and shiny. It often loses its way and takes many diversions. Soon, the Mind is lost in it’s own maze. It begins to conjure up the imaginary to create the magical escape from its bitter frustration. Creatures appear in the jungle, some friendly and comforting, others reserved and frightening. Strange and unusual characters offer solace. The Mind knows, in its dream world, the page is limitless. The Mind searches for the writer’s hand for guidance and seeks a strong cup of concentration to keep it alive. The hand scribbles a path in the vacant jungle, the blank page. Its excitement keeps it on track. It moves swiftly and clearly, words pour out from the Mind like fluid bricks and the hand places them cleverly, paving a road on the bleached page. The Mind, so full of illusion, attempts to trick the hand and leads it elsewhere. Lost again. What was I writing? ------------ About the author: Thaatchaayini Kananatu is a freelance writer and lives in Ontario, Canada. Email her at: thaatchaayini@hotmail.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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