Self-Erasing Slate

rainbowslate

22 April 2017 Saturday

7:43am

“You can’t erase a blank slate.”

It’s lyrics from a song Danielle was singing to herself last night. It boomed at me. Um… I have a feeling this is going to be a short post.

Why do you say that?

I think I already know the answer to my own question.

What’s your question?

What does “You can’t erase a blank slate” mean?

Alright. What does it mean?

It means, there’s nothing to clean if one haven’t really created anything.

Now you got Me, dear one. What does that mean?

The world is a blank slate. But some of us are afraid to step out into the world because…well, maybe for several reasons. Fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of responsibilities, fear of criticism, fear of what others may think of us, especially when it concerns our loved ones. And many, many more reasons. The list is endless!

You know very well, my dear, that there is only one reason to sum up all of those you have mentioned.

Yeah. Fear. Anyway. So one can’t erase a blank slate because there’s nothing on the slate. There’s just air or thoughts or figments of the imagination hovering above that slate. Including dreams and aspirations that are waiting to be fulfilled. To me, every morning is a blank slate. Because yesterday’s gone. It doesn’t exist. It’s just air. I get up from bed and there right in front of me is a blank slate. Waiting to be filled with anything and everything I want. I don’t even have to erase it. It’s self-erasing.

Oh, I see. It’s a self-erasing slate. Does everybody have one?

Of course. But some people choose to switch off the self-erasing mode. So it gets filled up and congested with the past. So there’s no room for new stuff.

Hm…and a self-erasing switch. What other features does it have?

Oh, well. It’s white. You know, like a white board. And it comes with rainbow markers so you can use any colour you want! Draw your dreams and future plans with as many colours as you like! Um…I think this metaphor is getting ridiculous. I should stop.

Never ever stop, my child.

Okay.

A Mother’s Forgiveness

Her son was murdered seven years ago. This mother could have done nothing to stop her son’s murderer being executed as punishment for the crime. And she could have ignored her dream. Her Soul told her otherwise.

A murderer is forgiven3

(From Yahoo News)

“An Iranian mother spared the life of her son’s convicted murderer with an emotional slap in the face as he awaited execution with the noose around his neck.

Balal’s mother asked for the family’s forgiveness as her son is brought to the gallows during his execution ceremony in the northern city of Nowshahr.

The mother of the victim slapped him in the face and removed the rope from his neck assisted by her husband.

“I am a believer. I had a dream in which my son told me that he was at peace and in a good place… After that, all my relatives, even my mother, put pressure on me to pardon the killer. The murderer was crying, asking for forgiveness. I slapped him in the face. That slap helped to calm me down,” she said. “Now that I’ve forgiven him, I feel relieved.”

The iPhone Robbers – A Dream

robbers copy

Today
8:14am

I had a really vivid dream this morning. I actually got up at 5:30 but decided to go back to sleep coz I’m still depressed about Rene’s hearing test the other day. I can’t stop thinking of the pain I allowed him to go through. I’m feeling really guilty.

Anyway, here’s the dream:

I was at the bus stop. I had my earphones on, listening to the radio on my iPhone.

I had to put my iPhone down for a little while on the bench coz I was fiddling with something in my bag. That’s when I noticed some men hovering around me. I sensed they wanted to steal my iPhone. I grabbed it quickly. The men grabbed me and held me down while they tried to steal my iPhone.

Next thing I knew I was walking around with nothing. They even took away my bag. I had no money to go home.

Nearby, I overheard a Filipino family talking. I was thinking maybe they’ll be kind enough to give me some money for bus fare.

So I approached them. The mother seemed to recognize me and acknowledged me by saying my name.

But when I told them about my robbery story they started walking away. They probably thought I was a conwoman.

I followed them, trying to convince them that I’m for real. They finally agreed and the daughter even suggested she’ll give me a lift home in her car.

I was so relieved. I followed them to the car park. I lost them in the maze of cars. I panicked.

But the daughter found me again and accompanied me to where their car was parked.

As we were about to get in the car, I pointed to a boy who was with them. I said, “That’s not Rene. Where’s Rene? We can’t leave without Rene.”

The daughter assured me, “He’s still in English Curriculum class. We’ll fetch him along the way.”

I nodded. I got in the car.

End of dream.

“Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you.” – Marsha Norman