I wish this was my library. The shelves are filled with creaky, leather-covered, books. Books that one hopes are full of wisdom.
These are some of my real shelves. They are a bit of a jumble because I've been reorganizing. I've been gathering all the books I have from the ancient and medieval periods. Their covers are mostly mass-produced paperback, but their contents are as ancient as anything in the first picture. I have finally succeeded in creating a life where reading them is required. I thought my primary feeling would be guilty pleasure, but instead I am afraid. It's nonsense, but here I am, afraid. I've read books by authors who are considered particularly difficult and done well, but my reading has a certain flatness from years of only seeing what I was asked to see. I'm afraid I won't be able to read more deeply or that I'll see too much and lose my way.
Fears of this kind are like a ball glove on a fence post, meant to scare a child into staying in the yard. They are false and unkind. They must and will be out-grown. Life is too short to stay in the yard, so right here, right now, on this blog I adore, I promise to keep reading. The Ancient Mesopotamian Epic of Creation is next, and I shall go forward from there. God gave me the whole world, not some small corner to hide in. He will be with me everywhere I go.
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