Lines

Tonight I was watching my favorite TV show on DVD. Yes, once again, I couldn't sleep.

There's this scene where the main character is drawing the image of the woman he once loved. For most of the scene, you cannot see the picture though you see his scowl and he, pencil in hand, working furiously to render her visage to parchment.

Finally, we see the face of his beloved. It's an incredibly simple drawing; just a few lines -but beautiful and sublime. My heart sunk and I'll admit I got a little teary. Yeah, I know it's been one of those "weeks" but even still, the pure poignancy of the drawing touched me.

Upon a second or two of reflection, I was touched even further to realize that I was so moved by a collection of lines. Black upon white. Nothing more. But then again, yes. Yes it was.

In this world we've been lead to believe that we are more than just black lines against white paper. Life is more than black and white, the song says. There's grey in there too.

We have "yes" and we have "no." "Maybe."

This picture. It captured her completely. It required no grays to encompass all that made his muse beautiful. This drawing made my heart sing and cry and mope around in its socks and stained hoody drinking milk from the carton for three days in a row, all at the same time.

I heard a quote by Oscar Wilde that once said: "morality, like art, means drawing a line someplace."

Whatever the case may be, for good or for not-so-good, it is the lines we draw that define us. Grays and shadows will fall where they may, but my friends, it is the lines we draw that make the man... or woman... okay person.

I could launch into a whole diatribe (or prolong the current one) by talking about morality and all that stuff. But as ol' RCC would say, "folks, maybe that's a rabbit I'll chase another time." Perhaps our time is better served wondering why it is that we need lines.

We need lines to show us where to park and where to walk. We need lines to get tickets to a show... or Pigskin (Nice legs, Mary!). When you think about it, you've lines to thank for reading this particular bit of prose. Lines bent into the shape of letters.

We desire lines. Sometimes just because we want something to toe. Other times, we love the connection that only a line can illustrate. I remember before a recent trip to Illinois, I was "MapQuesting" routes to drive home from Hamilton. (Wow. Weird statement. Waco is home? Waco is home.) On a whim, I decided to plot the course from my apartment to Erin's. One cannot describe the particular flavor of comfort I got from seeing a red line cross states and rivers to connect the two places in which we both sleep, eat and breath.

Sigh.

What a wonderful thing a line is. Comfort-bringer and curse. Much like my fallen form, forever shall it bring me wonder of a greater thing than myself.