Books are brains, inside-out. Books are impossible, archaic, odd, and easy to dismiss – but only if unread. When read, books show us everything that is Other. Our personal concepts of these things are unravelled, reveled in, and transformed in the journey of reading – a private paroxysm of epiphanic communication. Life previously unknown to us becomes recognizable, precious, connected to our core.
Good books circle us closer and closer to the centre of our own beating hearts while propelling us out and into the future. They guide us through an intangible maze, both inwardly and outwardly, seemingly symmetrical on both sides of that divide. They are generous and share freely with all, without stint or prejudice. Books build bridges.
Books put up road blocks. They define our dreams, support our hopes, acknowledge our fears, confront our ignorance, comfort our injuries, see our pasts, and touch our deepest secrets. Books give.
Books are cathartic, directional, motivational, reordering, informative, explorative, inspiring, inquisitive, spurring, frightening, and ingenious advocates for growth, mending, and a better future – for us and the world both together. Books are tangled masses of life tied up with ribbon and tossed into our laps like grenades.
Books console. Books bushwhack. Books invite. Books invigorate. Books cajole. Books wheedle and poke. Books heal. Books command. Books change us.
Books change Everything.
and Everything. Always. Needs. to Change.
. . . Don’t you agree?