The Magic Sleeping (Written March 8, 2018)
What power holds the written word
To stir the world in such a way?
What ancient, secret, mighty hold
Does the story hide away?
More wondrous than the might of man,
More fearsome that the storm-
It’s from the shape of tales and myths
That the world takes its form.
That power sleeps beyond our grasp,
Too great to trust our keeping.
In stories are those secrets held
To wake the magic sleeping.
Is it bad that I have nothing to say for Womens’ Day? I think the concept is sound and the execution is ridiculous. How revoltingly self satisfying. How ridiculously demeaning. Don’t waste my time with this nonsense.
If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.
Indeed. We waste our time on such vain things. Haven’t you realized yet what an incredible world we live in? There is such magic at our fingertips. No, mankind will never be free of our faults. But we will never conquer them by self satisfaction and vainglory, never overcome weakness by derision. The only way forward has ever been up. We must strive for higher things, for hope and good and inspiration.
We must strive, for instance, for a good book?
Have you ever had that feeling like you have found a glimpse of something ancient and powerful and secret? Like you somehow have come to have the great hidden bones of the world appear in your hands? All the sudden your every nerve is on edge, your mind reeling like it has seen more than it could possibly hold, your heart aching like you caught a faint trace of something so extremely dear that you somehow forgot you longed for.
This is how I feel when I read certain books. Maybe magic is more real than we appreciate, that words could make me feel this way. How wonderful. How incredible. How much more worthy of our time and energy and contemplation.
Thank God for good books!
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