There’s that blank stare… from me. Looking out. At nothing. Past everything, into the void beyond, the unknown, into the depths of that which contains multitudes…. but it’s as if I simply cannot see. As if I am blind. As if I am unhooked, uncoupled, unconnected. A single entity floating around in space, all alone, with nothing to latch onto.
And yet… sometimes I have to prompt myself with precisely what I do now. Not knowing what to write, having no clear sense of purpose, no ideas popping, eagerly awaiting being put down on paper… so I just start typing. Seeing what comes out.
Sometimes utter rubbish.
Sometimes surprising myself, with content or form.
Sometimes publishing it.
But many times, just the simple fact of putting pen to paper (finger to keyboard. I have to come up with a more poetic and beautiful analogy to the pen to paper-one, can you help?) eases me out of that void, into the world of the living, pulling me back from the depths of despair (slight exaggeration, but it’s a lovely alliteration!) and having me stumble onto the event horizon, from the other way, as it were. Normally I come onto it from the known, slowly, gently, softly, inch by inch getting closer to it. Not so now. Now, it’s more as if I am hurled around in space, and there it is, the event horizon, the semblance of things I do no visible beyond the edge, I’d better grab a hold of it. Tossing out my arm, making contact with the event horizon, getting my breath beaten out of me from the impact.
Breathing. Gently. In. Out. In. Out.
Coming from that place, the unknown, the void within (without?), the event horizon has a surprisingly solid feel to it, in contrast to when I ease onto it from the known.
Shifting perspectives (and this is what #tankespjärn is for me) provides that opportunity.
Opening up for an exploration of new vistas, new experiences, new possibilities.