jarandhel

Is there anything more terrifying than a blank page? Nothing written on it, just waiting silently for you to pick up the pen and write... and what you may write, for good or ill, comes from inside you. From your hopes, your fantasies, your thoughts and memories and wishes. Your needs and wants. Your joys and pains. Every word you pen is scribed in blood, your heart the inkwell. What other source could grant such vivid life to a person's dreams... or nightmares?

Tomorrow is Halloween. Samhain. The Celtic new year. New year, new page. There's a lot in common there. Both can be the start of new chapters in men's lives. Both are blank slates, waiting for you to evoke their shape and form and substance from within yourself through the medium of your choices.

Samhain is also the festival of harvest. The ending of the old year, as well as the birth of the new. Fitting, then, that I would end a chapter in my life at this time of year, and begin a new one. I'm not sure yet what will be written on the pages of this chapter, stretching on blankly before me. But I'm starting to pick up the pen, and when I begin to write... it will be with intention.