My mind, at times, feels like an abyss. A great yawning maw of nothingness. Standing on the precipice I’ll look down searching for an idea, but see only a murkiness that slowly fades down into a dark blank cavern. It’s as if I hope some idea will pop up within the crevasse and slowly float its way up to me, like a bright little underwater firefly.
This never happens.
I sit here and stare at my blank “canvas” and instead of possibilities, I see only static. A silent, visual representation of white noise. This is neither frustrating nor motivating – insomuch as inspiring of apathy. I lack the inspiration from the blessing of a muse. I lack the angst of a trial-ridden youth. I lack the wisdom of an elder, that could be passed along. I lack the passion of a social warrior. I am simply here: stoic, like a rock unaffected by the crashing of the ocean’s waves about me.
I am present, but I am concealed from myself. I know that somewhere, a springy verbal dynamo is hopping this way and that through my mind. I’d imagine she is much like if you were to combine several characters from Alice in Wonderland. You see, there’s a reason this story is so cherished by me. I’d imagine this inspiration, buried far below heavy black cloaks, to possess a wonder and curiosity such as Alice. She’s also aloof and cryptic as Absalom. She’s tricky, elusive, and full of insights as the Cheshire. She’s always in a bit of a rush, not one to slow down – quick as a rabbit, one might say. Impulsive as a Queen, and as unconventional as a Hatter. And of course she would be entirely dull for all of this, were it not for a touch of madness from the March Hare.
But for all of this, she’s lost. Covered, blanketed, buried, and lost somewhere in the blank.