DRAWING POWER

    What is it about this big white screen on my desk? It draws me in, and it pulls at my thoughts relentlessly. It teases me with its emptiness, “Fill me up!” It screams! I try, I try to ignore it, but I must fill it up. Its multifaceted appendage, the keyboard is seductive, kissing my fingertips, once touched, it will not let go. Nor can my eyes stray; an unblinking stare holds me hypnotically. I shift in my seat but the emptiness does not move. Its voiceless begging fills my ears with a quiet pounding and my heart races in step with the beat. My whole being leans with anticipation as though tied to the pulse throbbing through the cord that gives life to this unwieldy invention of a long gone century, shall I resist. Oh no, I give in to my hands and allow them to float above the tiles embellished with letters, letters that can be joined together in many ways; so as to turn the world upside down, break a heart , soothe a worry or take the heat from an argument ; magical are the letters, and they hold me captive. I let my hands fall and I am lost.


    I am owned and sealed by time; the rhythm that moves me will one day loose me and these flesh and bones of mine—the outer me—will be as the blank white screen, but will my memory share its drawing power? Will the keys I have touched shape a life or show the way, will my fingers have marched with meaning? Only unfolding time will determine the answer, but I have learned that determination can be led by grace. These thoughts crowd out the magnetic power of my nemesis, I am loosed to leave this place, with fingers free, I do.