There is nothing like a blank piece of paper. My entire life could go on this piece of paper if I write small enough — like the Bible written on a grain of rice. It is like a door into all possibilities and you just have to open it. It truly is amazing once you stop and think about it. If I wanted to, I could draw a picture on this piece of paper that could brand me as the new Picasso.
If I wanted to, I could use any color I want on this piece of paper. I could create new combinations of colors. I could make shapes and squiggles that would entertain you or sadden you or make you question life. The thought of the infinite possibilities has me mesmerized. If I wanted to, I could write a novel on this piece of paper. My story could span generations or center on an hour of magical time.
I hold this piece of paper tenderly, salivating as I ponder its ultimate use. But knowing that its brother is waiting patiently for my continued thoughts diminishes the urgency of completion.
If I wanted to, I could write a play on this piece of paper. I could transport you to Africa and have a lion devour you or fly you to Saturn to contemplate the rings.
If I wanted to, I could sway your views and generate votes. This piece of paper is a powerful political tool, wouldn’t you say? With the right words I could change the world.
There is nothing this piece of paper could not be. My goodness, if folded correctly it could sail across the room looping up and away, holding messages to you. If folded in a certain origami way it becomes a symbol of peace for the entire world. When I was a kid we folded a piece of paper to make a game. Remember?
This piece of paper can be copied an infinite number of times to carry my message to the entire universe. If I wanted. Then I think, what do I know that they would want to know in China or Mexico or Iran? It gets me to thinking of the value of my thoughts to others. Kind of humbling, this piece of paper, isn’t it?
My words on this piece of paper could be straight and rigid, perhaps on lines drawn by a ruler. Or they could be cursive and flowing with a romantic feel. The way in which the words are written can tell a lot about a person. Or at least they did before typewriters and computers. What do you know about my feelings now no longer conveyed by my penmanship? Nothing. An entire dimension of writing has been lost.
If I wanted, I could use this piece of paper to play peek-a-boo with a laughing child. I could cut this paper into a mask or a kangaroo.
This piece of paper, 8 1/2 inches by 11 inches is truly an odyssey of the mind. I pray that I can use it to the best advantage and fill it with worthy thoughts and ideas.