Fascinate. Sounds like being captured within the skin of an idea. Not being forced to look-but aching to stare, to hold it in the palm of your hand. Turn it over and over. Touch it with your finger tips. Smell it. Listen to its whispers as it rolls through your senses. Taste its sweet voice. Understand it…but you cannot.
Allow yourself to stare too long and get caught up in the mystery and wonder of it all. Browse through the library of your mind-of your imagination-and try to find something just.like.this. Squint your eyes to see a touch better, to focus your gaze, your attention, your very being.
Yet, somehow, through all this anticipation, though you try to capture it for yourself, it has captured you. As you look directly at it and search its face for understanding it seems to already know you. As you try to find words to describe it, it seems to be offering you a definition…of yourself-in relation back to it.
Strange. You have become so wrapped up that you have shed your own skin and now stand intricately woven in a new and fixed position.
And the only thing you can do is keep staring. You cannot anticipate the next move; it is too unexpected. And so you stand: fixed, unmovable, fascinated.