I’m staring at a blank sheet, the limitless canvas of white stretching out for parsecs before me. A pristine plane of vanilla tones, the wan landscape of nothingness downright assaults me. I see myself on that pale plain, just one small dot on an otherwise pristine existence. That small insignificant little speck is in danger of being completely drowned out by the totality of the world around it. There is no way to tell, but something that could reasonably stand in for time passes. Seconds, eons, minutes, millennia, all are one and many. The infinite nothing presses on that mite, crushing the world into an ever-shrinking realm. No mere words can describe the air of social destitution that this cultivates. For an instant, for an eternity, that particle stands alone against the elements. That interminable interval passes, and with a flash of inspiration, that fleck shows signs of movement. Soon that single dot evolves. Now, a black line stands proudly in the wild, a defiant expression of existence.
Somehow, that line does not seem to mar the universe. It adds to it. That blank line morphs and changes, lengthens, changing direction and path. It separates the blankness into definite regions. Suddenly, where once there was a hazy expanse of nothing, there is a vivid cache of detail. The line zigs and zags, it gently curves, and blazes a trail across the earth. Amazingly, the line manages not only to cut and divide the surface, but to accentuate it as well. Another impossible to define length of time passes. Only this time, instead of an insufferable length of solitude and loneliness, there is change and growth.
For a moment, I stop staring at the sheet. Where once nothing stood, there now proudly stands an image. This image is recognizable. This image does not just show a representation of a vision of an object, it has emotional quantities as well. This image is a declaration of the future, a monument to hope and ideas. This image is, in and of itself, me. In a brilliant moment in defiance of the laws of physicality, I am both the image, and the entity viewing it. As the glow of that instant passes, the definition between the two versions of me no longer exists. What exists of me in the image is inexplicably and entirely me. But rather than two separate versions of me, the image-me is a shard; a soulful piece of me that gives it a life and awareness.
No matter where my image-me or I go, we will be whole. I set down my pen, and lovingly gaze at the image. I take time to admire its inherent qualities and flaws, to appreciate it for what it is. The image is not perfect. Nor should it be. Just as I am imperfect, anything I create will be as well. Those imperfections make it what it is. They make it special, unique, and wonderful. By appreciating the image, and the image-me, I am appreciating myself. I grin wolfishly, and then decide to share this image with the world. Everyone should share in this revelation; everyone should find a piece of themselves in what they create.
I take the crisp piece of paper, markings and all, and set it on a display board. The backdrop of the board is a dark brown, so deep a hue it appears almost black, and it sets off the ivory tones of the paper. Suddenly, it becomes quite clear that what was originally seen as a colorless white void is full of its own subtle tones and nuances. The perspective of the backdrop creates nothing from nothingness. The slight changes and variations of the sheet weave and meld with the image, making it come to life just a little bit more. I take the image to the living room, and place it prominently above the couch.
Everyone is invited, from all around the town. They are invited to come to the living room, to sit, to admire, to comment and to critique. They are told the story of the dot, of the line, of the image and of the image-me. They are told of the duality, the dichotomy, and feeling of completeness they enforce. Like a creeping plague, understanding nods spread slowly throughout the room. When it comes, the so-called “Ah ha!” moment is an intense and personal moment. The only timing and master it knows is that of the person who has it. But once that moment occurs, it changes that person forever.
In just a short while, the image-me has cast an undeniable spell over the group. An air of understanding, of community, fills the room. Something so small, and yet so intricate, has made a poignant point. The change that the image-me has wrought is not drastic; it is a small and easy thing. But it is a change that is needed; it is a change that is welcomed.
One by one, the group files out of the room. Several make attempts to purchase the image-me, but I find myself unable to part with it. I find that every part of me is special to me, even the parts I imbue freely in my work. As the occupants of the room dwindle down, I find myself filled with a feeling that I have not felt in a very long time. It is a feeling of happiness, of contentedness. The feeling is a full, warm, and joyous one. It is one I shall treasure for ages.
I mosey out of the living room, which is now empty with the exception of the image-me and myself. As I traipse my way slowly to my room, floating with a feeling of rapturous bliss, I lay myself down on my bed. With a jolt, I sit up suddenly. I walk out the living room, only to find no image-me above the couch. No messages from an adoring crowd, no sense of real satisfaction in my gut. I wander, confused, to sit in the chair where I thought, a short time ago, a kind of magic had happened. After a brief moment of hesitation, I pick up my pen, and ready my papers in front of me.
I’m staring at a blank sheet.
So begins another week. This week has a special event that is occurring; I cannot, and will not, talk of details of it just yet. I do not want to jinx anything that could happen. I only ask that you give freely your warm wishes and hopes for me. If this event happens in the manner I desire, my world will be changed utterly. This is a change that I want, nay, that I need to have happen. So amidst your comments and critiques, I humbly request your warm wishes, honest, humble, or otherwise. If you have not already, do please friend me on Facebook, dear reader, and remember to follow me on Twitter @Chiron7936.
good luck my dear cousin, My heart is with you!
No no, humble wishes are completely out of place here. I boastfully demand the universe to go ahead and provide you with whatever magical wonderful thing you need. So there.