I was aroused from my stupor
By a forcible, shapeless figure.
”Write,” it commanded me.
”What?” I asked.
”Write,” it repeated, louder this time.
”I… I can’t,” I stammered. “I know I should. I mean, I should like to. Only, I can’t think of anything to say.”
”You MUST write,” the figure urged me. “Pick up your pen, and let it decide.”
And so I picked it up. But nothing came out, because my fears clogged the pen.
The next night, the figure returned
”Draw,” it said. I could not tell if it was angry or inviting.
”Draw?” I asked.
”Yes, draw. Now. You must.”
”Why must I?” I asked the being.
”You must find out for yourself,” it said.
So though I’d never done so before, I put pen to paper again. Only coarse, primitive shapes came out, but I was glad of it, and much relieved.
The figure returned next on the back of a summer’s breeze in broad daylight.
”Dance,” it said.
I laughed a little.
”Dance.” I said, dubiously.
”Dance,” it repeated.
“I know, I know. I must.” I said, mocking.
”Do you know why?” It asked.
”I know only that you’ve told me to, and now you won’t leave me alone,” I said.
I followed the breeze in a twirl through the air and at once the weight of the day was lifted.
At length, our final encounter was in a dark room. Scraps and brokenness lay about the floor, in all directions. I felt the shapeless figure, and knew what it would say.
”Build,” the voice was my own. “Create.”
”And do you know why, daughter?” It whispered back to me.
”Oh yes,” I said. “Because if I do not, my very heart will burst. I know what I am to do, and it is to leave a mark on this place.”