Few people probably agonize as much as I do (at times) about what words will follow that blinking cursor on the screen. How should I reply to that text? How should I phrase this email? Should I even write anything at all? Usually, we don’t take the time to think before we reply. I know I’ve reaped the whirlwind for replying too quickly, too sharply, unlovingly, without thought. So just the other morning, I scribbled “the blinking cursor” into my pocket Moleskine journal, gift from my five-year-old this Christmas. On arriving at work, I added “the turn signal” but dropped that line (a side thought about how we are driven by things that blink) when I realized that the lines which followed basically made a haiku. The essential philosophy of haiku is “the focus on a brief moment in time; a use of provocative, colorful images; an ability to be read in one breath; and a sense of sudden enlightenment” (Haiku, Academy of American Poets). Though I lack the colorful images and tie to nature, it felt like I was being invited into a moment of enlightenment, and an opportunity to pause, to be quiet, and then reply.
reply – vincent h. anastasi
the blinking cursor:
weighty pregnant emptiness
awaiting input
the deepening ground 