The books on these shelves here, to my left
Once laden with promise, heavy with the hope of salvation
Are no longer groaning under the weight of such responsibility
I supped greedily on those words
Desperately praying that the nectar of freedom
Might be magically conveyed via those pages
To transmute my undoubted suffering
Surely, I reasoned, the answer must reside somewhere in those sentences?
It's been a while since I last glanced across at them
Tonight, I notice some familiar words on the spines
(Mystery, spirit, vastness, heart, extraordinary)
And I see colours – dark blue, black, deep crimson, green –
Against the white of the bookcase
Otherwise, they seem strangely empty, offering nothing
No longer required to hold out hope
Relieved of the burden of redeeming me
These books and I now all free
To simply be what we always have been
Wonderful Fiona! This is exactly my current experience of all the books on my shelf as I am packing up the house for our big move. I have been able to divest myself of many books which seemed to provide some "identity": homeopath, scientist, writer, Rolfer,spiritual seeker, deep thinker, and on and on. What remains are a few books which simply please me. The sense of lightness I feel this morning is indescribable. These books are just books and I am simply a reader of books, no more nor less than that. Ahhhh...Thanks for this post. It's so great to feel you in the field, and to connect in this way!
ReplyDeleteHelen, much love to you. Yes, all those shelves groaning with identity and knowledge...now whittled down, and still more to go, I think. Hope it goes well.
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