“Books choose you.”

Books Choose You - Sushrut Munje | Frankaffe
Pic Courtesy: Eren {sea+praire}

“Books choose you,” she whispered as the hand slipped into mine.

The context was not clear, perhaps the fact that I was holding a book which had somehow meant to land up in my lap aided the cause. Books work in mysterious ways, for they stack up on our beds, on our chairs and on our shelves. We reach for one in times of need, and right at that time, it seems to have all the answers. It smells just fine, and just the right amount of dust to dust off, like a teeny ceremony to celebrate the moment.

I have been lost before. Been lost on love, been lost in choices and been able to find my way out on grasping a firm silken thread, one which had that gentle glow and a distinct warmth, like a touch of the dearest. Read a book on the self, it opens up the insistent sleeves, talks to you by the banks of the mighty river inside, flies with you into the empty skies and talks you into building the wind. Read a book on the self, you’ll fall in love with yourself again.

Ever experienced logjams? A complex mathematical problem that takes days on end? Or perhaps a tricky situation at work that needs to be resolved? Read a book on business of things, it will narrate stories of people who have been there, done that. It will guide you through the details, fine aspects of what works and what does not. Might just make you laugh at your follies, and insist you take a hard look at what is wrong. Read a book on business of things, you’ll fall in love with yourself again.

Read a book on peace, if it suits you. Monks who discuss the meditation of slow walking, academicians simplifying the simplest truth there is to understand. Read a book on anger, it will ask you to release the resentment with love, in a manner which convinces. Read a book on flight, and you’ll never be the same again.

Read a book, for it is a song. It plays in your mind, bounces off the walls, it has its own melody, your melody, and its true wonder exists for you and you alone. Read a book, for it is a poem. It is luscious, it’s sultry charm to tingle your senses alone, intoxicating enough for you to lose yourself again. Read a book, for it is life, different every time you view it, changes its meaning every day like the sun and the moon. Read a book, for it is your own mind talking to you.

Books choose you. Let them.

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