Dust settles in the wake of the morning light emanating from four-inch panels. Eyes slowly open to the scent of the morning dew that resonates beyond my windowsill. I am left knowing only two things this morn: a) I am still breathing and b) what should I wear? But there does lie something of greater importance, understanding the art of the written word and to execute an effective message deriving from the personal. So how is it that I am so compelled to write yet feel the presence of an exterior force? Hated by writers abroad and although far from anything I've witnessed before, this barrier haunts me in my sleep and while awake reminding me that it will never sway and will always linger. Waiting for that moment where I lose focus so it may stumble upon me and block me from venturing any further. 

After the first foot hits ground, and after the blanket slowly shifts away from me, I find myself rejoicing in a daily moment long forgotten but always appreciated. It is the moment when I recollect what I did the day before and what I am to do this day to come But all I see is my pen and my paper. What I don't see is what seems to affect me most. That is, the invisible wall cascading towards me despite my resistance as it constantly tries to overcome the mark of my penmanship. So I ignore the ever-present invader, walk towards my chair residing by my computer that barely flourishes above the clutter on my desk. 

What is the use? the rival of sorts sits behind me, massaging my shoulders and breathing gently upon my neck. With every key pressed upon my keyboard, I feel the presence of an army of humble servants attacking a resilient force. The sadness of my warriors is that they merely take dust from the infrastructure that mocks my type waiting for the moment I stop. Even this thought creates tension so I stop- if but only for a moment. 

Pacing back and forth I find myself smoking and drinking freshly brewed coffee. I tremble for I can see beyond my wall, but have yet to find my ladder. But as any essay shows, the development is fueled by the power of the author's words and through this power lies the answer and final blow that will take my wall down; so it may shatter before me as a cloud of smoke drifts above. I stare onto my cup of coffee noticing I've once again let my imagination take its toll... Yet, it is in the heart of every writer that lies the strength and will to bring down such an inevitable force. And with this strength comes the art and form. I feel rested now and alert ready to embrace my screen once more as I suck out the life force of my greatest enemy little by little with every stroke on my keyboard. 

And so the nightmare begins. The arms of the enemy embrace me. I have only my aphasia now to aid me. I listen to the beat of my fingers slowing before me, ceasing their motion. My dialect evades me as I struggle for the continuum... The vast variety of ideas circle before me floating about aimlessly in the world above me. Had I a balloon for thought, it would now be empty. I feel the might of my warriors losing the fight for this wall appears closer and its apparition hinders my progress and direction beyond and above my mark. 

So I begin by examining the notion that we are a means to our own end. Aristican thought in its own right. If the enemy is therefore within, then within must be its excile. I see the blankness of the page as it taunts me dearly. I must continue resistance and continue solid thought for it is only in danger in my own mind. I can hear the pounding of the wall beating to the dance of my heartbeat. My nerves sparking in my cerebrum send an important message from the depths of my soul to the grace of my fingertips. It is in this amplitude that I find the keys and courage to move beyond my own expectations and even moreso, that of my enemy 

And so the battle continues... I arm myself with a shield in the name of experience and passion in the name of the sword. I ride the vast horizon of erratic thought with my black stallion type and charge towards the wall-keen of my desire to brittle the entity that resents my every word. And so I find myself dwelling in unknown territory and struggle with my only motive to complete the journey and arrive safely back home. I stop once more to re-evaluate my progress so I can find the path to victory and expand my empire once more. The tyrant suppressing me becomes my Goliath as I face him bare and exposed to his undoing. In feed of this fear comes the beast towards me and like a slingshot in perfect aim, I gently place my fingers down upon my laptop and strike. One, Two, Three! I could feel his demise with every thought fitting into written form in perfect harmony and place. Six, Seven, Eight... 

Begone!!! Leave your opposing ways for this writer knows you well and has ceased the moment to take you down. Warriors! Lift your ladders for you now have passage to the end and may you continue to shift continents of thought with your ever-growing army. But be weary - for this force has no death. The wall may have tumbled down but the dust has yet to settle. It waits patiently for the moment I wake as I open my eyes once more, looking onto the windowsill and the light that emanates from four-inch panels...