Libraries Are for Lovers

I'm a woman who feels at home in a library.

I’ve taken up residence in a library.  This intellectual “all-you-can-read” buffet delights me.  The library is open all hours of the day and night, but I am the only visitor.  There are rare books in my bedroom that, as mentioned, doubles as a library.  The shelves are replete with texts in Hebrew, Latin, French, Amharic, Arabic and the all-too-favored English.  Where would I be without a book that belongs to me?

My Nook is hidden away in a classic office drawer.  The movers stole my first Nook and purchased several naughty books on my credit card.  These books with obscene titles did not even classify as literature, although I was pleased that they downloaded the New Testament.  For the love of humanity, I forgive them for being sinners.  They must be Christ-centered.

All praise to Allah for literacy.  I’ve learned to want for my brother or sister what I want for myself.  Everyone should at least for some period of singledom live in a library-esque habitat.  It is so natural for me to gently turn the pages of a beloved book or scroll down an infinite online publication.  Reading tames the savage soul.  It renders us loving and kind, wholly susceptible to metaphysical heights and poetic diversions. 

What is love if not a collection of memories?  The memories of a mystic mirror our desires.  Through the fog after a cleanse, our hearts take shape on the surface of glass or at the point of self-reflection, as if traced by the finger of God.  It takes a sober mind to appreciate the rapturous passions of a liberated soul.  Freedom from the wild terror of the unconscious mind connects us with the oft-exalted order in the universe.  Libraries are for the sober.  Libraries are for lovers and the best place to learn to be loved is a library of one’s own.