Ode to a book

Oh, my eyes! What things I have seen and the heart-clenching panic I’ve had to endure, grasping a reality that at times seemed so shallow and torn. Many different places my body and soul has lived in, crunching snow with my bare feet and braving hot pavement below sun soaked skies.

Steadiness, a word that never had much meaning in my life, not even a constant place to call home. Schools were many that I attended, cities plenty where I lived in, always trying to make new friends, just to lose them again. I remember at one point giving myself up to the bittersweet surrender of solitude. Circumstances beyond my control led me there, and brought me here.

Yet one thing has been steadfast, ever-present and unwavering, providing a joy as pure as life itself, the comfort of words on paper; books. Those written words, those stories and histories have stayed by my side, bringing relief to tear soaked sorrows and the angst of loneliness, and granting bliss when darkness lurked around the corner. In the happiest of my days, and the saddest of my moments, I always believed reading would comfort or amplify my being.

I’ve known no better companion than a book, it being the single most influential item in my entire life. Fiction, non-fiction, biographies, poetry, war stories or philosophy, I want to soak it all in. From quantum physics to history to journeys around the world, my bedroom has always had a bookcase, stories calling me out from the deepest of sleep. My mind craves to delve deep into the secrets of ancient Sumer, to read about the darkness that looms beyond our planet and the possibilities of the cosmos. I am captivated by history, to read about George Washington’s secret spies and their help in shaping the American Revolution, to dig deep into theories of human evolution and consciousness, to ponder the possibilities of life in other planets or to contemplate on the philosophy of a warrior-poet like Miyamoto Musashi.

Every time I pick up a book, or wander aimlessly through a bookstore, I still feel like that lonely, scared kid, that with the help of such a marvelous addition to humankind, felt an escape from the mundane, the reality around him vanishing away, giving room to other times, other stories and a sense of relief and adventure soaking him to the bone.

Thank you, to that inanimate object that animated my mind’s eye, projected my imagination, solidified my knowledge and helped me cope with the injustices of life. I love you dearly.

There is no such thing as a sleep-deprived morning if it was spent reading with delight.

– A. Garcia