There is always the one time, that one moment where we struggle to write about something...
The pen sits in my hand, balanced and poised; hovering above the glorious white paper beneath it - ready to make its mark.
As it hovers, I imagine the symbols; the letters, the words that will decorate the paper from top to bottom, back to front. Multiple pages form together, align themselves as a group, as a collective.
And yet, all the while this passes through my mind, I cannot decipher the words, the exact letters that my pen will draw for me. Staring at the white page, nothing happens - my pen just hovers above the paper, like a bird of prey high in the sky looking for its prey.
A blank white page.
Bare, untouched, unscathed. The brilliance white shining on the wooden table it lays on.
It taunts the pen, knowing that all the while the pen hovers above it, the pen cannot do anything, cannot touch it until the master holding it decides what to write, to unleash the pen and destroy the white page with its markings.
But then I, who hesitates and holds the pen inches above the white paper, cannot decide what to write with the pen. A barricade stands between the masters mind and the pen - nothing can leave.
Secluded within the barricade are white balls of light, ideas and thoughts that are itching to escape and power the hand that holds the pen. Yet, they are weak and few; nothing compared to the barricade circling them.
Caged like wild animals, the thoughts and ideas begin to collide with the barricade around them - trying to break free, to be released from the confines of their cage.
Collision after collision, tiny cracks in the barricade appear... Light from the other side pierces its way through, persistence appears from the shadows and gives the thoughts and ideas encouragement.
Fragments begin to fall from above, the barricade begins to crumble and the thoughts and ideas push their way through the barricade towards the my hand.
In a moment of pure epiphany, the pen crashes down onto the paper and begins to scar the white paper with black marks, black letterings, rows upon rows as the thoughts and ideas power the masters hand.
Until the final letter is put in its place, and the pen is put to rest until another time.