The Beauty of a Blank Page

On undoing, becoming, and sacred beginnings

by Rachy Friedlander;

There’s something hauntingly beautiful about a blank page.

Maybe it’s esoteric. Maybe it’s just me. But to me, it feels like the embryo. Totally future-less. Just a shape. A form. Undefined.

Time to redefine!

The Power of the Embryo

What is the power of the embryo? It’s the ability to simply exist as a blank slate—potent in its “yet-to-be.” A new being in formation, without needing all the answers.Just presence. Just becoming.

And so I ask: Whose vision guides the formation? Whose belief does the creating?

From the lens of a mature, accomplished adult,I find myself stripped bare—returning to the rawness of spiritual infancy.

So much undoing in the face of all this doing. So much stripping, while fear grips and drips through my hands.

The Body Remembers

Years, even minutes, of hardening and clenching have built a fortress in my nervous system. A system wired for survival, for drama, for fight or flight.

And now I’m asking it to do the impossible:to unwire. To rewire. Maybe even sub-wire.

It's disorienting. It’s strange.Like pulling the poet off stage mid-lament, shutting down the scriptwithout warningand offering instead—a preposterous preposition of prenatal possibility.

When the Waiting Breaks

To wait is its own pain.To lie still, stretched thin, hoping this strange season resolves itself.

But—Waiting. No longer.

It is I. It is Me. The me I can no longer live without.

The processed, grinded, churned-out one—raw and realand still daring to believein a new possible beginning.

One only He can create.

A New Script in Real Time

Hashem speaks.Sometimes loudly, but often through subliminal kindness.Through messages and messengers.Through the very ache of the becoming.

I am here now,reading from a new script,trusting the waters will part—as I place one footin front of the other.

Unseen splendor.Unfathomable kindness.Potential abundance.

Me—tentative, curious, tearful, tenacious. Becoming. Still becoming.

The Swaddle of Now

I can’t name the future.Can’t pronounce “Eureka” or shout “Mazel tov” yet.

But maybe—I can wrap myself in the fog of this momentlike a swaddle.

Maybe that’s the point.

This pain is energy. This ache is sacred momentum.And this embryonic me—is the seed of a future only God can grow.

If You’re in the Becoming...

You are not failing. You are forming.

And I want you to know: there’s nothing wrong with you for being undone.

-- If this reflection met you somewhere quiet, I’d love to hear from you. Leave a comment below, or reach out via Contact Page. You don’t have to walk this part alone.