Imagine having libraries instead of wardrobes.
Fingers trailing across spines of silk and gossamer, Austen and Rowling, little dresses and mystery novels, Tolkien, Homer, Fitzgerald – feathers and strings of pearls. Imagine, eyes raking over shelves in wonder, standing naked in an ageing body and finding comfort in the eternal. Silks decay but this lasts forever.
Imagine people painting their curious lips in different shades of words, not colour. Imagine having books instead of mirrors so we can see reflected a way to BE better, and not an exterior twisted by perceptions. “It’s what’s inside that counts,” they say. It’s what’s inside that endures.
Imagine having libraries bigger than our souls. The kind we can drown in, where we can cover every inch of our body and our soul with its pages and still have enough for a million lives. Wouldn’t that be a good way to go? While we leave behind our bodies and our silks, we can take our souls and our words. For the word, like the soul, is eternal.
It’s difficult though. We’re tied to our silks and our mirrors because we’re still products of this world. So with our own little imperfections, we try to strike a balance. Let us clothe the body in dresses and pearls but let us also use books instead of mirrors and colour our lips with new words. Let us feed the mind with books, as many as we can possibly fit.
The good thing is, mine always seems to be hungry.
