Books...

This is something I wrote almost a year ago... I went to the bookstore right before a REALLY boring class, and this is what resulted...

Somehow the books make me quiet. And it's not merely silence, but just so still. Everything inside calms down and you forget who they tell you you are or even really that you're you. You just breathe. You just exist. You exist in a world full of beautiful, dark, rebellious, brave, truth-seeking minds. Yes- they are truth seekers. Above and beyond all the words and the pages and the punctuation, they eat and breathe and speak and walk the truth- they ache for it. Some never found it, but what they give as their offering is THEIR truth. And somehow, it in some way forms part of that great, great whole that is Truth. So, here I stand among the most beautiful, deep, dangerous minds ever to know consciousness- here I stand among years, centuries of experience, of pain, of life, of love, of good and bad- centuries of truth and folly- folly often loved as dearly and held more fiercely. Here I stand staring in the face the writings of thousands about the experience of millions, and feeling the awe of the few, the few sacred truths they followed on their path to Truth. And in a way too miraculous for human comprehension their truth knows my truth and in almost every way translates and melts into all I am, all I feel, all I love. Here I stand at the apex, in a station so glorious and at the same time so humiliatingly undeserved- would you dare me to speak, to add, to scoff? Or would you let me be, just for a few moments, be still...