It’s blank, open pages, are an invitation.

It’s safe to throw whatever you want at it—it will not throw back.
Heck, it’s scrawled upon, messy ink-covered pages are an invitation too—
An invitation to add more to the mess.

It doesn’t care if what you throw at it is pretty and thoughtful,
Or haphazard and carelessly tossed its way,
It doesn’t judge.
It is open and receives either way.

It keeps whatever is thrown at it in one place.
A great ocean of collectivity.
It makes it easy to go back and connect,
Revisit and play with the different brain spew later.

It allows us to recycle and re-use contents.
To retrieve, remake, and remodel what was previously tossed at it.
It doesn’t throw away. It records, preserves, and safe guards.
It is not wasteful. It is a record keeper.

Should we wish to fish something back,
And transfer it to a more connective medium,
Like a blog or an article to be shared with others, it lets us do this.
It shares.

It’s ocean of pages have always seemed more inviting,
Less judgemental than the screen of a laptop.
This ocean of pages is a safe place.
There are no sharks or trolls lurking here.

Admittedly, there is a higher likelihood of it being thrown at
After reading Kerouac.
When playing with that spontaneous prose stuff
We never know what treasures we may uncover.

On some days it is almost as if it’s pages are calling us,
Inviting us to toss something in,
Daring us, calling us,
Dive in.

Dive in to the ocean of pages of your journal,
Dive in and see what happens.

~

 

Originally published on Elephant Journal.

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