Tabula Rasa

No, i am not referring to a computer game or that disc in town which goes by the same name ...

I fall back to the original Latin - the Unscribed Tabulet.

Tabula Rasa, the clean slate, the origin of the human mind.
What shapes it into what it is? The blank parchment that we are all born with. Is it "Nature" or is it "Nurture" that metamorphosises us into who we are, into what we become.

What the mind thinks must be in it; in the same sense as letters are on a tablet which bears no actual writing -- Aristotle, On the Soul

What is knowledge, if nothing but the truth that we are inclined to believe.
I think now behind this solitude that keeps me behind glass walls, who am i? What is my purpose?

I don't wish to go into this Platonic/Freudean debate.
I simly wonder sometimes, how nice it could be to blank this slate clean of things unwanted, memories undesired, pains conflicting. Reach into the shadowed depths of my heart, my mind, and pluck out those sorrows. Re-write the mind with thoughts cherished.

Speak the truth, and the truth shall set you free. Fear naught but the fear itself.
Do these be but speeches brave? Or are they the very foundations that rest the mind at ease.

The reaction of senses to the external world of objects imprints our minds. That is what imbalances the Tabula Rasa.
Oh! How i wish, how i wish i could sweep the mind of all the dirt that clogs it, and refreshen it - vibrant, joyous, carefree. To relive the childhood, the moments of nascency.

My thoughts no more do me justice. I no longer trust if i hold true to myself, let alone to those i love. I make a prayer to my own heart.

Give me that languid, peaceful space,
where falter not my dreams may;
winds of conceit harden thy brows on face,
let me be pure as i was born, to thee i say.

Bonded by chains, break through them, set upon myself the task, I do, to realign the Tabula Rasa ...