If I Were a Book

On the cover would be the Buddhist wheel of life – rich with color and intricacies. It’s only one book of a series of how many I don’t know.  Within the pages one will find a brutal honesty of reality, as real as the illusion of maya gets.

The first pages turn with a crispness that only previously unturned pages can.  Awe, wonder and excitement lie in the first chapter, as seen from the eyes of a babe newly born with a fresh start.  But after that they change.  There are stains, torn pages, a lot of meandering word paths that don’t lead anywhere and invite the reader to skip in hope of something better.  There is tragedy, sorrow, and blurred words with traces of tears.  The pendulum swings.  The pages become crisp once again with renewal, joy, birth, – a fleeting enlightenment.

There is no escape yet, as the pendulum moves in the other direction.  Pages are missing, secrets too painful to reveal.  Karma ensues.  Grace picks up the pieces.  The story emerges once again as the pendulum swings upward.  A shift has been made.   Old supporting characters fade and new ones appear.  The pendulum still swings but not as brutally.  After countless eons of contemplation Arjuna begins the battle.

At the end, “to be continued.”  With apprehension I read my reviews on Amazon from the supporting characters.  There are many and range from one (ex-husband – there is a one star minimum) to five stars (current husband), with the consensus lying somewhere in the middle.

There are many books to follow until the masterpiece of the series emerges.  The binding is totally white, so white that it glows, as are the pages.

This was for a writing assignment.  I’m thankful, once again, for this writing group, that pushes me to explore my inner workings.