I was currently saved from having a miserable day, by a lengthy visit to Indigo.
Its astounding the amount of stress relieved by simply being surrounded by books, music, and the first friendly male staff clerk who didn't hit on me after our pleasant conversation
{.it was only later that I realized that he hadn't given me back my gift card which has over 20 $ left on it..}. Roaming through the stacks of fictional literature I found three books worth mentioning, and two not. The first was GARGOYLE; a book I have wanted to read for sometime but could never actually remember what the synopsis said. The second was the ALCHEMIST; one that has been highly recommended to me by many different people all claiming its "my type of book". The third was the THIRTEENTH TALE; a book that I constantly run into, read the back of, think about, and then, put down. I have picked this novel up at every bookstore, airport, drugstore, and multipurpose store I have ever been to, considered it and then reluctantly put down. Today, I bought it. This book that seems to have sung out to me on so many occasions has finally found itself in my possession.
After realizing how hungry I was I wandered over to a local coffee shop ordered a small coffee and a whole-wheat bagel with butter and cream cheese, sat down, and opened the book. It was then that I realized how valuable bookstores are. You trade something deemed precious, but in reality worthless, for a treasure beyond measure. The aesthetics of the words first individual, then forming sentences, and finally into the author's thought became so unimaginably spectacular to me that I truly had to stop and wonder at the fact that I have never once discussed the AESTHETICS of the written word with anyone, and that the topic itself, isn't of any philosophic value.
It was also in that moment that I fell in love with reading again. I'd forgotten how lovely it is to have words evoke emotions from you for things you have never cared/or thought about. I'd forgotten how well chosen words could warm your heart in a reminiscent form of God's presence. I'd forgotten how you can find yourself understanding, pondering, and questioning things that would have been impossible for you to do so without the gentle nudge of the words that you had just experienced.
As I continued my slow and steady walk to a place that will take me home, with my new found treasure, I wondered what I would do if I got mugged right then. I knew that I could not part with the books that I had, not after finally finding myself in a place of beauty that was human made
{ Most of the time the only places I find truly beautiful are those that are made by God's hand or presence, the place that I had just found such emotion in was under the pen of a human and so I was not yet ready to let go because I knew that it could only last a short while and would eventually turn my satisfaction in dissatisfaction...} but the only thing I had to offer otherwise were my electronics and my leather jacket which seemed hardly anything in comparison... and if I did ask them to let me keep my books, wouldn't they simply become all the more curious and demand that I give them up? Then I shot up and out of my mind and snapped back into self-awareness; No one was going to mug me in broad daylight, and in public, and if they did no one would want anything other than my electronics. Laughing at my self I dove back into the words that had captured my heart once more, and settled back into my minds eye and watched as Margaret Lea continued on with her life, and as mine came to a steady halt.