0234 The Book To The Reader

The book said: I serve you. And as you take from me, I give myself to you; even before you begin to read me. I note how gently you pick me up from where you laid me down, pausing just before you touch me; and I feel your mind surrendering with relief all other matters which weigh down the mind; as one who sheds his clothes and dives into cool, clear water on a sunny day and when you begin to read me, I feel your hands, not gripping me but sensing the film of air between your hands and my cover; the lovely detachment of a shared love; you respect me for my outer self as you respect what I have to give and when you put me down, you put me down so tenderly, first looking for the perfect place to leave me; with, I sense, an inward sigh of satisfaction, gratitude, but which meets the sigh of parting; like the parting pause of lovers and, like lovers who have grown old together, we put out of mind the passing sigh of yet a different kind; that one of us one day will be – not the first, that’s easy – but the second one to go… that’s the eternal test of love: loss to be measured against gratitude, the final laying down on the altar, of the book of life all this I appreciate; did you too know this? are we not fortunate in each other, you and I? said the book.