The Unwritten Page Awaits

The Turning of the Page

Now, bring to your mind’s eye the image of a vast, ancient book. Its cover is worn, its binding frayed. This book is your life. And you have been reading the same page, over and over again. You know every word, every comma, every stain on the paper. This page is familiar. Even its pain can feel like a strange sort of comfort. It feels safer to hold on to what we know, even if it hurts, than to step into the unknown. But you are not the words on the page. You are the reader. Feel the texture of the paper beneath your fingertips. Smell the scent of old ink and dust. This story, the one you’ve been holding so tightly, is just that—a story. And every story can have a new chapter. With your next breath, I invite you to do something courageous. In your mind, reach out and take the corner of that page. Feel its edge, thin and delicate. And now, slowly, gently, begin to turn it. There is no tearing. No violence. This is not about erasing the past, but about creating space for what comes next. As you turn the page, you might feel a sense of release. You may notice the stories losing their power as you see them not as absolute truths, but as passing mental events. This is the practice of cognitive defusion, of creating distance from our thoughts. Watch as the old page lifts, revealing what lies beneath: a clean, unmarked expanse. A blank page.