![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
“On Paper”
I am faced with two pages: one white, one black. The white page is crossed with thirty-three light blue lines, parallel, and a single pink line, perpendicular, pushed to the left side of the page. There is nothing else except the holes penned in by that single line. The black page is much the same, but a twisting layer scratches across the surface. Its cover over the surface is not complete, but it does come close. The chaotic twisting of the black is indecipherable. My stomach sinks when my eyes scan over it and I’m enveloped in a sensation much like nausea, a feeling nearing revulsion.
I hold the white page up to the sunlight flooding through the window. An indistinct translucence suffuses the paper. I smile in acknowledgement of the simple beauty that faces me. I hold the black page up to the light with greater effort. It is heavier, almost imperceptibly, but only almost. The translucence is far less pronounced. I must strain to even see it. I wouldn’t even know to look for it were it not for the example set forth by the white page. The earlier sensations are amplified.
I hold a pen in my hand. I hold it directly above the white page, hovering and immobile just millimeters separate of the surface. I continue to hold it there, not daring to move, basking in the comfort and glory of the limitless possibilities afforded me. All bad feelings quietly wash from my body and I feel an inert satisfaction as an energy crosses the empty space between pen and paper. I now hold it above the black page and it drops from my hand almost immediately. The thought of scratching the pen across the dark is absurd and I could not even contemplate such a task.
I leave the room to bring back a lit candle and a roll of tape. I place the two pages again before me: one white, one black. I take the white page and tape it to the wall. It hangs eye-level as I admire the purity of the gleam it gives as gaze shifts from plaster and beige paint. I am deeply gratified to have something so worthy adorn my walls. I feel accomplished and at peace. Now I take the candle and let the black page burn.
I hold the white page up to the sunlight flooding through the window. An indistinct translucence suffuses the paper. I smile in acknowledgement of the simple beauty that faces me. I hold the black page up to the light with greater effort. It is heavier, almost imperceptibly, but only almost. The translucence is far less pronounced. I must strain to even see it. I wouldn’t even know to look for it were it not for the example set forth by the white page. The earlier sensations are amplified.
I hold a pen in my hand. I hold it directly above the white page, hovering and immobile just millimeters separate of the surface. I continue to hold it there, not daring to move, basking in the comfort and glory of the limitless possibilities afforded me. All bad feelings quietly wash from my body and I feel an inert satisfaction as an energy crosses the empty space between pen and paper. I now hold it above the black page and it drops from my hand almost immediately. The thought of scratching the pen across the dark is absurd and I could not even contemplate such a task.
I leave the room to bring back a lit candle and a roll of tape. I place the two pages again before me: one white, one black. I take the white page and tape it to the wall. It hangs eye-level as I admire the purity of the gleam it gives as gaze shifts from plaster and beige paint. I am deeply gratified to have something so worthy adorn my walls. I feel accomplished and at peace. Now I take the candle and let the black page burn.