Bookism
Let me write about books
Because,
If there is anything
In this life
That I’ve done
Which has tremendously
Transformed,
And shifted the way I view things,
Is reading books.
Transformed,
Not in any insignificant way,
Or unnoticeable way,
But in a subtle,
And utterly flamboyant,
A radiant,
My inner-world has been devastated,
And restored,
And made to be a,
A kind of luminous green house,
Wherein,
For my plants to grow,
I need the space,
And I need the light of the outside world,
To enter,
I need contact with others,
To be made aware,
Of my shortcomings,
And where I can become better,
Because as the Buddhist Monks say,
You are absolutely perfect,
You can just improve a little bit,
And that’s the motto,
Improve bit by bit,
And,
Truly,
That’s what books have done for me,
They’ve made me realize the importance,
Of others,
I am only myself,
In relation to others,
I can only be myself,
In relation to others,
Of course solitude is a beautiful retreat,
And an important rest,
Though,
I am only a person in relation to people,
My identity,
Whether I want to or not,
Is tied,
Intricately to the fabric of my surroundings,
And I can run away,
But it will always come back to bite me in the ass,
The books are my sanctuary,
More than an escape,
They are coming back,
The stories,
Have a voice of their own,
And they speak the tongue of history,
Of our collective humanity and unity,
Which is ultimately something,
I want to belong too.
Thanks for this greatest gift.
