secure in the knowledge that it's hard to ruin mashed potatoes
~storypeople
often, i write all day long with white ink on white paper, late into the night, until it is all i can do to feel the letters curving to earth from the tip of the pen & then, i fall asleep. dreaming of running, or maybe driving in a car the color of water & i wake the next day remembering nothing & i gather the stack of paper & a pen of black on the desk in front of me & the words begin to dance over the page like long legged insects across a still lake & the words in white whisper behind & underneath the new day. if there is any secret to this life i live, this is it: the sound of what cannot be seen sings within everything that can. & there is nothing more to it than that.
~storypeople
this is an.
extension of a.
storypeople story.
i am loving it.
so i am.
going with the extended version today.
even tho i just posted the short version.
sometimes.
what we write in white.
on white paper.
about the direction we think.
our life is going.
sometimes it gets.
a reality check.
of a big black ink splatter.
what we choose.
to do.
after that ugly ink splatter.
hits the page.
is the only thing that matters.
crumple up that page?
throw it in the trash?
or pin it to the bulletin board.
as a reminder.
that ugly only stays if you let it.
but when you set it free.
the white page comes back.
along with all the beautiful colors.
that you know you have inside.
NAMASTE.
just BE.
robin.
