My mind, blank as this sheet of paper,
I sit quietly entranced
by its soft glow illuminated by the light.
Taking slow shallow breathes,
I gaze endlessly until I see tiny fabric threads
and the little micro cosmic pores.
My eyes relax and my focus blurs,
this paper, thin and light as a leaf, was born
from a beautiful tree that was rooted deeply;
within the soil of the earth, its origin goes beyond
the plastic packaging it was bound in.
Then I realize, in the midst of this block,
that my mind is stuck in, this paper is at its simplest
most beautiful form, removed of all expression and influence.
In its silence it resonates a calm stillness;
a peaceful motionless water illuminated by the moon.
And at that final moment
when all that it is, is enough to be everything
that it needs to be, to be perfect,
I begin to write,
and the more the ink blankets the surface,
the more it becomes like paper again
and slowly the illusion begins to form
that the ink, in all its expression and influence,
is all that there is.
~ Salvatore Vionito