Went into the bookstore early this morning. Stood in front of shelves straddled with books, all kinds of titles. Reminded me of graveyards where titles are etched in stone. I felt compelled to read. Picked up book after book. History related novels. Shall I buy this, no this, or this novelist I know of but never read. Why now I felt the urge to read. Old titles kept popping up (Plato, Dumas, Don Xichote…)
Why as humans, when we grow older, get a desire to unearth the past. Words we chose to forget. What are we doing? Preparing ourselves to the journey beyond?
Carrying the same luggage we dropped before?
Suddenly we discover our thirst to know. Maybe we missed a sentence, a word, a syllable, that will help us this time. Why can’t we go light? Why don’t we go free? Why do we have to carry so much dead weight?
Ah what did these prophets say, what did Akhenaton believe, always looking for a beacon to show us the way. Blind we lived and blind shall we leave.
Do we really need words to mesmerise us? Words to petrify us? Do we want to retrace the same path? To burden ourselves with useless anecdotes, myths and riddles? Tombstones with titles are heavy. Aren’t we weary of carrying these loads again and again?
I shall take this journey lightheaded, pure hearted, it might be long or short, no restraints this time.