A truce tonight between my eyes which struggle to see, my hand that has long forgotten how to write and my heart whose voice is truly in my writing. I found an old notebook and pondered what it would be like to write again….
“Hello my friend. I will try and write with a pen and paper and not the computer. Hello creator of my favorite word to describe my writing – ‘scrich’- the sound of my hand and the pen moving across paper. Hello texture of paper and weight of the notebook. Hello cold barrel of my pen. Hello scrich sound of my hand moving across the paper and the feel of the of my hand gliding back to the left margin when I’ve reached my edge. Hello little scriches that I will probably never be able to read once you have cradled yourself into the paper.”As my hand moved back and forth I pondered perhaps that that was indeed the whisper. Just as in meditation when my mind takes off to this thought and that thought, with gentleness I bring it back with a soft whisper, “Begin again.” Sometimes, that is the sweetest and most profound part of my meditation sitting… reminding myself I can begin again. Like my hand moving across the paper, when I’ve reached my edge, with gentleness, I can move back to center and begin again.
No, I cannot read what I wrote. I do remember the opening sentences and the sound of the scrich. And that’s ok. Indeed, it is grand. Matters not what was written. I simply began…. again.
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