The physical beauty and the weight of a book in my hand, or bag, somehow creates and awakens within me a stirring for knowledge. The hidden passages, secret maps, forgotten dreams, and desires, beckon me to come and take a closer look. The scent of the pages, like an elixir keep me coming back for more. So much of the senses are engaged in reading a book. The tactile experience of turning a page can be a meditation for the mind and soul alike.
I don't know if I will ever be able to give up the physical relationship I have with books in turn for the downloaded words on the screen. There is more presence of mind in each moment spent with a concrete book in hand. When dusk falls, you carefully manoeuvre your way toward a lamp or perhaps you put your book down altogether. There are limitations to the hours you can read. There is something so inviting and tranquil to me about having and setting limitations in our lives in this day and age.
I cannot fathom my life without them. They are as much a part of who I am as the world is sometimes too much with me; together moving forward with there weight in my hand.