Monday, June 8, 2009
Once, for sheer entertainment, I did a past life reading which told me that I was a scribe in a previous life. My duties were to record the "secrets" of the Wise ones for others to come.
I laughed at that because of my love for books. Not just what was in them, but how they look, smell, feel.
I often buy new notebooks, and marvel at their emptiness for a few days. The beautiful, clean pages waiting for our thoughts. The feel of the closed book in my hand. Which directions would I take, what would these pages contain at the end of its time.
I have always loved the smell of stacked peices of paper. Printed or no they excite me. This oddity has even led me to smelling stacks of test papers at school before they were handed out. I really got excited by it.
I have tried to make my own books. I do wish to do a few as hand-made art peices.
Hand-made books with themes, illustrated by hand, written by hand....my own personal batch of "Books of Shadows" with drawings of herbs, and tea recipes which you can grow and pick in your garden.
Books- little boxes of bundled thoughts. First example of the mind of man passing information along, long after being dead.......