A Book

For a while now, I’ve had something like a recurring dream that happens while I’m awake. Generally it occurs during a Spiritual Discipline. In my mind’s eye, it goes something like this:

Behold! a book, new and huge. Nothing is written in it when it opens before you. But looking closely, you see lines. Now a pen with an unseen hand is put to the page. It begins to list. Something is twisted about this book because it’s rapidly looking aged. After listing just the first thing, the spine breaks. By the tenth, the pages are becoming frayed and the binding is giving way. The book looks like death. I’m afraid it might crumble to dust as the pen starts writing faster and faster. I hurry to take a look at what it says before it’s gone. They’re ugly things.

From above, a drop of liquid hits the book. The ink smears and the page dyes red. I look up but I don’t see anything. Another drop and the dye is sinking through the pages. Another drop, the spine is restored. Another drop, the frayed edges are clean cut. The red dye isn’t dye at all. Another drop, it’s erasing the ink. Another drop, You can’t read what’s written any more. Another drop, the page is white again.