What a beautifully safe place,
Where mind can find space,
To mine throughout time,
And find companions,
Who befriend, rain or shine.
I took an amazing nature bike ride through the heart of Connecticut and ended up in the town center of Colchester. My phone was dying and I did not know my way back so I panic scanned the landscape until my eyes settled on Chagrin Memorial Library. I used to live off Chagrin Blvd in Shaker Heights, OH..- or at least I think I did. I locked the bike up and walk into this Memorial of Codexis & Their Secrets. At the front desk stands a woman right out of central casting. Our librarian wears two sets of turquoise glasses and speaks rather loudly in a place notorious for silent reflection.
"Do you have an iPhone charger? I'm on a very long bike ride and my phone is dying on me" I said, trying to give off the stress of my situation with eyebrow movements.
"Oh, yes! Right this way, what kind of iPhone is it?" the librarian said, raising my level of stress tenfold.
"The OLD....-" I stop mid-sentence. There is no need to finish, she lifts a type-C charger as I conclude my least favorite word.
BING!
I reach into my camera back and find my portable charger, which so happens to take USB-C and is ALSO dead.
"I can..- thank you, yes this work!" I kindly take the charger and follow her to the table where I can bring life to my attention seeker. Once the thing is plugged in, my eyes shift. The librarian says, "You're welcome to browse these shelves..-" I pull out my pocket-sized Montaigne and say, "I think I'll be chatting with my best friend, Montaigne." "MONTAIGNE! No one has said that name in this library in a very long time...-" my eyes start to water "...-But if you get bored of dead French philosophers, we have much!"
Get bored of dead French...- are you mad, mate? I opened my Lil' Montaigne and continued where I left off 'On Friendship.' I'm here in Connecticut to visit a friend. Not just any friend, my first friend in Connecticut. Great pal of mine, someone who truly aided in my growth as a person and continues to do so. Once I finished the essay, I ventured off into the library. Not because I was bored of a dead French philosopher. No, Montaigne would've wanted me to see what collection of works lathered these shelves. This was quite a busy small library..- more people than I'd expect in a town that didn't have a mega grocery store. I stumble across a work that spoke to me so much that my eyes began watering.
PAPER: PAGING THROUGH HISTORY
Now I have a history of reading (by Angelo Manuel) but I do not have a history of paper. I am papyer..- I am a PAGE to history turning my YouTube channel into PAGE of a history. Eyes. Water. BING! Give me that fookin book. I take it back to a reading chair in the corner of this Memorial Library. I give it an inspectional reading and come across a few facts.
Meng Tian was the builder of the Great Wall of China and the inventor of the brush.
The Monks of the Middle Ages had to read 2-4 hours a day.
Egyptians were writing on scrolls in 3000 BCE.
These three facts were the main takes of the book from a quick breeze of a read. I put the book down and knew..- I will buy this and blend it and Angelo's work into a YouTube video. As I put the book down, look up & realized something..
I found my Self in a small library in Connecticut as a kid. I seen my Self travelling through the ethernet cord as I glanced at the little cubicle tucked off behind the bookshelves. It was here that I felt really safe and I can't remember how I used to get to these places. I was in these little cubby's all around Connecticut. My mother would be working at so-and-so nursing home or hospital or going to so-and-so night school. She was always working and leaving me in safe places where I could always read. Some of those hours would be spent running a little commmunity on Habbo.com or attempting to grow on Twitter (as I got older) but most of it was scanning bookselves for new works. Back then I was heavy into the organized crime genre. You read all those works in a year or two and the writer's don't inspire you to dig deeper into yourself. It was in a Connecticut library that my friend group and I stole every copy of Dale Carnegie's notorious work (which doesn't need to be named here.)
I came back to Connecticut to connect with an old friend. I cut into that trip to connect with the oldest friend I have, my Self. I will always been a lurker beyond the shelves. A keeper of forgotten volumes. A dweller of the written word hunched a nameless codex on the only reading chair in sight.
