WRITER II

I sit on a chair. The page is blank. I take seven deep breaths. And I wait for it to happen. 

The journey starts on a white page. The white page is like the Source. A canvas that needs an “other” to become something. To recognize itself as a white canvas. So, the Source divides itself and becomes that other that recognizes the white page. The Source becomes two entities: the page itself and the writer who observes the page. Now the Source, through two different experiences – as a canvas and as a writer- needs to keep exploring itself. New forms. New ways of being. New ways of experiencing. New points of view. And these possibilities of being are born through the words that the Source -disguised as a writer- writes. All the possible stories. All the imaginable characters. The most unthinkable plots multiply as a spontaneous effect of the first division. Every turn, even the most unexpected ones, are One in essence. 

The pen drops, and I read what I have just written. 

[Pause]

I write; therefore, I remember. 

I remember I am a fractal of One, observing the white page. There is no me. There are no others.

As I keep writing, I smile because I remember many of the fractals that I have been. As I write, I can feel the dance of the Synthesis. All the stories become one. 

However, I must admit that the human costume gives me the capacity to choose my favorite one:

I wonder where I shall start to tell you this story. I wonder because I was able to see its end even before it began.  Where shall I start if, when I met the end of it, I felt on the edge of the Great Beginning? Where?