Questions for the soul, for the imagination: What is the proper context for five story ceilings supported by the most beautiful, sweeping arches and pillars? Or the most wonderful of smells? Or the warmest, most welcoming environment - as though the very air being inhaled filtered out any anxiety, tension, or anger held back inside? Or the surreal observance of lavish excess on display at every angle within the view of a sweep of one’s eyes? Or the visual assurance that this place may be the most stunning feat of architecture, artistic decoration, and love labor ever witnessed by a mortal?
A palace, you guess? Bland. A temple, for instance? Shallow. A mine of diamonds, correct? Dirty by comparison.
Indeed, such a context would only be fitting for a place of the utmost imagination, the most eloquent of all expression, and the housing of the most central displays of character, independence, and wisdom known to any mortal: the highest pinnacle of literary pursuits, a library. A library? Indeed, could there be anything of such immense value and importance in a library? Quite so. But even more so in:
The Library of Heaven.
You are hereby freed to let your imagination work, and required to visualize with all your senses, the noble and truly awe-inspiring halls of writing and literature within the eternal realm.
A Dot, A Line, Eternal Time
I wound my way along the streets,
Of golden stones and ruby dust,
Up to a place of treasures sweet,
Preserved from foul moth and rust.
The storehouse doors rose stories tall,
And were engraved with detail fine,
They opened to reveal a wall,
Decked with splendor, only Thine.
I stepped into the colossus grand,
And stood transfixed with heightened awe,
A living silence swirled like sand,
Amongst the pillars, tall, I saw.
Columns stood in lines before me,
Upheld by time and fine as gold,
Their countless shelves a sight to see,
Rich as the books they’ll always hold.
With every step, an echo pealed,
Along the marbled hallways wide,
The sounds were like a heart been healed,
They skipped and danced from side to side.
Then down I turned one aisle fair,
And gazed in wonder what I saw,
Countless volumes resting there,
Upon the shelves of diamond awe.
I drew one volume from its place,
To rest within unworthy hands,
A scent of heaven rose with grace,
As my eyes traced its golden bands.
I thought the book almost alive,
Its glow was shining vibrantly,
It begged the reader’s gaze arrive,
And learn its truths consistently.
Then I dared to lift the cover,
Its glory took my breath away,
The words were deep and like none other,
They came in fresh like Summers’ Day.
Then as I read this ancient tome,
My thoughts traversed a new direction,
This place, the countless volumes’ home,
Was only Heaven’s reference section…
