Narrative - Life with Escher :: Personal Narrative Essays

Narrative - Life with Escher If you were to diagram my life, it would look very much similar a drawing of Escher. Sometimes I ascertain like Im the hand thats drawing a hand thats drawing itself. Other times I feel like Im locked in one of those inescapable paradox cages. But most of both, I feel like Im on the ever-ascending stairway that never goes anywhere.Lifes canvas was non designed to be painted by human hands. Constrained by the limitations of space and time, crippled by the human inability to see the entire word picture at once, and gifted with an uncanny lack of judgement, I smear and smudge what I cannot go back and fix. At the same time, I worked hard to visualize my own image impeccably clear without the faintest idea of who I really was or the realization that I was constantly in flux, changing as very much as a lonely flower bends before the force of the wind. Once I began to find outward stasis, my inward person grieved that I was not in the end what I wanted t o be at the beginning. My attempts were futile.I then looked to the Maker of the canvas and the Master Painter to draw something more perfect, more beautiful upon my heart and frame. But do I put down the brush and lay aside our pencils? No. I stupidly scribble all over the masterpiece of my Creator. Even if He asks me to stop (I only hear him if I havent destroyed the ears He painted in) I stubbornly confound His any stroke. Worse, I think I made an improvement.My life is also like Eschers paradox cage. This cage is of my own drawing. I thought I was building a palace for myself, but it restricted my movement. My own creation bound me, kept me from following the loving words of the Master Painter. He erased it for me once, but I was dense enough to paint it back into existence. The funny thing, of course, is that its just like the paradox cage. It doesnt really keep me inside. I just think it does. From my perspective, I have the phantasm that its an impregnable fortress when i ts only a fake facade that need hold no one in, rendered so by the Masters nail-pierced hands. In the end, I rent to stay inside, though if I listened close, Id hear the words of the Painter, guiding me through the illusion and onward in my life.