Narrative - Life with Escher :: Personal Narrative Essays

story - Life with Escher If you were to diagram my life, it would look very much like a picture of Escher. Sometimes I happen like Im the hand thats drawing a hand thats drawing itself. Other times I feel like Im locked in single of those inescapable paradox cages. But close to of every(prenominal), I feel like Im on the ever-asc containing stairway that never goes anywhere.Lifes psychoanalyze was not designed to be painted by human hands. throttle by the limitations of space and time, crippled by the human inability to gather in the entire painting 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 render my own image impeccably forgive without the faintest idea of who I really was or the realization that I was always in flux, changing as often as a nonsocial flower bends before the force of the wind. Once I began to watch outward stasis, my inward person grieved that I was not in the end what I wanted to be at the beginning. My attempts were futile.I then looked to the overlord of the canvas and the Master Painter to draw something more perfect, more pretty upon my teacht and frame. But do I put down the crash and lay aside our pencils? No. I stupidly scribble all over the masterpiece of my Creator. Even if He asks me to stop (I save hear him if I havent destroyed the ears He painted in) I stubbornly be His every stroke. Worse, I think I made an improvement.My life is in addition 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 fundament bound me, kept me from following the loving words of the Master Painter. He erased it for me once, but I was dumb enough to paint it back into existence. The singular thing, of course, is that its moreover like the paradox cage. It doesnt really keep me inside. I just think it does. From my perspective, I have the illusion that its an impregnable fortress when its only a fake facade that need hold no one in, rendered so by the Masters nail-pierced hands. In the end, I choose to stay inside, though if I listened close, Id hear the words of the Painter, guiding me through the illusion and in the lead in my life.