I am the crocodile-dragon-creature in Escher's print Reptiles. In the confines of the flat paper world, my every edge is a neighbor's beginning, and I am neither positive nor negative space, but a piece of the pattern, perfectly fitted and entirely delineated. So I extract myself. I escape into the world of up-down, forward-back, side-to-side.
Space yawns around me. I can move, go anywhere. I am expanded--expansive--experimenting, experiencing. Everything is new, so I go exploring. Breath in my lungs is the most beautiful piece of the universe. I exhale exuberance, puffs of smoke.
But then I find myself crawling downward. I am not sure where to go. The vagueness of liberty disorients and disturbs. Where do I fit with the objects around me? They do not respond when I move. I grow tired of being lost and alone, and of being bombarded with sensations.
The paper is before me, so familiar. I lower my head to it, and rediscover my old perspective. Slipping forward, slipping flatter, slipping away from the unknown world, I slip away from experience and sensation.
A moment later, I am pattern on paper.
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