When I read, I breathe new air, wear old shoes, and all the knowledge in the world is sat before me; teeming. Earth, now a little smaller though now also a little bigger. It’s all the same. Little things become complicated and complicated things beautiful. It begins to seem like the problems of this reality are solved. Yet, the answers are bound to the black letters, never to escape the wearing page. Never finding fruition in this earth, for they belong to another. It is much like a whisper whisking past my ears, giving silent hope. But there is never a full voice to mention how it is to be made manifest.
But I read on, because I have connected to something bigger than myself, even though a disconnect exists.