The Magnificent Moonlit Library

I awake with a calmness still lingering inside and out. I feel it in my room, and on my walk to Hope's room it permeates the halls. It is the calm of the week before Christmas when all the gifts are already under the tree and you're celebrating at your in-laws; it is the calm sound of ocean waves as you're falling asleep under a big umbrella on the beach; it is the calm of eep taking its sweet time sinking in, with the promise whispered in every infinitesimal crevice that it will never leave again. Without effort and fully present I count every step to Hope's door, today known by heart. When I arrive I realize I have neglected to say a single thing, but no matter, there is a kind of electrifying spark to a flame that you know will not burn you. I knock on the door and Hope flings it open with a rage yet one that is somehow already partially restrained, like an inferno held in a slipknot cage, ready to come undone at the slightest hint of a threat. This shift in perspective shocks me into silence; has my influence permeated, to help bring about this change? As if reading my mind, she smiles and nods. "Sometimes kids come calling these days, it's best to be prepared." She pulls a plastic pumpkin out from behind her door and smiles in a way that is now quite familiar, like a thread finally pulled through from our past experiences. She examines her stash and pulls out one just for me, "Candy?" she asks with a smirk. Remembering yesterday, I check if I can see her sign from this angle, but only glimpse the tail crescent of the last "o" in the first line, atop of three little vertical dashes or dots alternating orange and black. Does this mean it's an actual choice? Am I reading too much into things? Is that even possible in this place that is simply layer upon layer of interwoven tapestry? I could really go for some candy... "Yeah, thanks!" She drops the yellow laffy taffy into my hand and puts the pumpkin away "You're very welcome. I figured I would keep a kind of constant Halloween theme, for the right crowd anyway." "I like it! So I was thinking, how would you like to visit the library with me today?" She squints an eye, coveying an anticipation of boredom. "It's no typical library! There's a skylight over the lobby, and books as far as the eye can see. The sheer scope of it is worth the adventure, even if you never read a single page!" I can see her curiosity piqued by my theatrics and with a shrug she agrees, now closing the door. It swings open again and my co-adventurer stand in her place, frog hat and all. "The frog hat is back! I like that one. Fortunately, there is no need for new hats this eve, 'come as you are' the only dress code, for the library we are to visit is inexplicably empty!" I make an ominous hand motion as if there might be spooky reasons behind this vacancy; she makes a little "ooh" expression and takes my hand excitedly, ready to venture forth. 

 

We make our way through the halls, humming along to the music, and find a door with the words "The Library" engraved over top. "Here we are!" I turn the handle but, to my surprise, it is locked. I think "we didn't come this far to be rejected in such a cold way." and consider what I might say. I put my cheek to the lock and speak softly a virtually encrypted rhyme, in hopes that it might be the key.

 

"This endless torment and gnashing of teeth

Bitter venom lights the eternal flame

Sharp without spark is static in the sheath

Take these jagged pieces and make a name

 

Forever obscured was never the aim

But these children are so casually cruel

Ignorant hubris dripping like a game

A cardinal sin reveals the golden rule

 

These commandments have been compulsory

More critical structure than suggestion

Oh doctor say us a blessed story

These jealous keys must dare scribe the question

 

Swift stitch magnificent curse in reverse

That libraries generate from one verse."

 

Sure enough, with a click, the door unlocks itself. I turn the knob and open it "Huzzah! The library!" We walk through the door and I shut it behind us; apparently it was some kind of broom closet. "Who has so many brooms that they need a whole closet?" I wonder aloud. Hope looks unimpressed at the musty hallway "This isn't the main lobby, we're off to the side. These are a lot like the halls we know, but elsewhere. Here, follow me." I take her hand and lead her through this maze, perhaps not so familiar with its particular arrangement, but somehow knowing labyrinthian navigation by heart. Soon enough we have arrived in the main lobby "Viola! The Magnificent Library!" 

 

Even from here the collection is breathtaking, all the more so for its suggestion of more hidden up stairs and down many halls. My mind drifts a short while to the prior times I have come here- the books I have read, and the times I have just wandered the halls, letting fingers slip over covers and dust as I walked along. I look over at Hope and I can tell the sheer volume of the books here is overwhelming for them. I wait in patience as I try to process precisely why before offering my reply. "Books are interesting, aren't they? The crystallized thoughts and knowledge of others available, even in their structure asking, to be seen; could one spend a lifetime in here learning what others have said on page and in ink? How could one hope to retain such treasure? Personally my memory is like a field of fires, blazing when fresh fuel is added, but fading to ember and then fading further still when left unattended. I have forgotten most of what I have read, for that matter even much of what I have written, consciously anyway. For me, having so many fires means some will dwindle and that's okay, for unlike a flame it feels like some remnant of a mark remains, when the wisdom of a message truly strikes home. It is as if the flame itself possesses memory of where it once was, and when needed it dances in darkness, to remind me of where we have been. Just like that a spark reignites, and you will find me an expert reborn on the topic at hand, and many tangential things. I once tried to keep them all burning all at once, fearing to lose even a single piece, but found such conflagration scorched me. I ran to escape the heat and returned to find the flames had gone out while I was away, and the deeper cold sent shivers down my spine. Now I focus on the arrangement; like a line of dominos one pyre lights the next, a single thought sparking a whole column or row like fireworks. These many thoughts I still, at least in part, retain are no longer a wildfire, they no longer overwhelm, but possess a focused heat that is much the same as when they did, when needed. I would not presume for you it is the same, but I sense along some lines we share this flame, but if fire is complimentary or supplemental at any given time, who is to say? There is a sting to knowledge forgotten, but I find it less than the sting of a mind consumed all ablaze. I find each state can be weathered though, if one acknowledges that edification in the intentional retention of knowledge, arranging one's field, may in fact be a perpetual pursuit." Hope looks back at the vast array of books once more and, now seeing them through a shifted lens, utters "Wow." 

 

With that hurdle overcome, I look up at the immense skylight over this modestly lit main lobby filled with tables and benches to find that it is night here, a full moon in full view, as if peering in curiously at our unexpected presence. "Hello moon!" I wave, looking up. Hope hears me and follows my referential gaze before her eyes sparkle by the reflected light of the moon above. "Hello moon!" she echoes happily. Our timing often flawless, the moon begins shifting from white to red, as if a glass emptying or filling from the side, depending on one's perspective. I can see Hope trying to process what we're witnessing, but I have come prepared, somewhat studied, one might in this instance say. "Blood Moon!" This doesn't seem to help, so I explain further. "This is when the earth passes between the moon and the sun which shines the light that we see reflecting off it. That eclipse is essentially Earth's shadow reflected onto the moon. I guess one could say that night is Earth's shadow as well, when witnessed from Earth's surface." I see her concern shift to excitement as the gears turn in her mind, as if she now sees the precession of these heavenly bodies. Like carefully planned clockwork, the moon ticks into alignment with the sun and earth; we now both watch the phenomenon with eyes bright. As the majority of the shadow shifts into place I comment "It's interesting, only on a night like tonight can the moon be seen as both full and crescent in a sense, depending on when you view it, although the tides remain surging in agreement at its presence all throughout... I guess that is the same with any phase of the moon, still present in full whether we see light reflected from our vantage or not, but regardless. While the red afterglow does provide a kind of outline, the shine does decline until a crescent can be seen, out of time. Tonight we won't quite see a new moon of sorts, blood in full, but its nice to think such a thing might be seen as well, in due time." 

 

We stand gazing up until the lunar eclipse has finished its show, and then Hope turns excitedly back to the trove hidden within the pages of the library. "Let's go check it out!" We run together laughing, with no librarians to slow or shush us. We find many unique, often dimly lit, rooms along the way "That's one thing I've always admired about these classic libraries, and this one in particular: there is no lack of emphasis on immaculate internal architecture." The small green hooded library lamps are often all we have, but it feels as though the shadows play and dance around us as if happy for the company who, by our origins, possess no great fear of the dark. Sharing pages between us of books small and large, and manuscripts, and newspapers preserved, and even the occasional map, we soak in what we can of what the library offers, paying little attention to the path we take through its great halls. 

 

Hope sits at the table in the light, engrossed in a book that has no proper title, but only a monster on the side. I scan the dim room and a tiny blinking purple light catches my eye. It seems Hope is fine so I steal away, finding the light coming from a shelf noticably free of dust at the end of a corridor. It emanates from a curious device, which upon closer examination is reminiscient of one of those voice memo recorders popular primarily before smart phones, but almost as if of unearthly design. I press a button on the side and suddenly hear Hope's voice, fully grown and clear as a bell, softly through the speaker. "Hey, I just wanted you to know I have loved our adventures, I never let the fire fade on a single one. I was thinking about what you said in terms of DNA the other day, for you anyway, and what you have written about oneness. I realized that for all women living and once lived, born already with their eggs, it is like a massive daisy chain linking back to Eve; like a relay race through time, the baton is never dropped or without at least one hand holding it. As you pointed out, this is not the same for men, there is a kind of gap between conception and physical maturity where they are separated from this reproductive process, their possible progeny beginning to bloom and wilt only years later, each in a matter of days, like a sudden recurring tidal wave. It feels as though this may be the very key to oneness broken, this temporary separation possessed by a man, while he is still a boy. Something about this uniquely realm crafted library, with all its politely overlooked forks and many untouched books, has me thinking about that, about how a state of oneness can persist for a time alongside a state of separation, and then be bonded to it in more than one way. I've done some reading since this day, and I found this interesting: Genesis 6:1 'When human beings began to increase in number on the earth and daughters were born to them.' Matthew 24:37 'As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man.' Six chapters and several generations in is an interesting time to announce such a thing. Considering the images of the end we've seen, and the unusual times in which we met, a part of me finds such out of place lines reassuring. I hope you like your gift!" 

 

The recording ends and the light shuts off. Eyes now adjusted to the darkness, I notice that the only book on this shelf is a leather-bound Bible, with a familiar geometric pattern on the front. I feel a tingle when I take it, it seems clear this is what she means. In the dark silence, barely above a whisper, I voice my hopes and concerns in typically encrypted fashion.

 

"Your taste familiar

Something like a dream on tip

Of my tongue in cheek

 

Could firs't highs linger

In the blood from the garden?

In mind since the fall?

 

What have we forgot?

Regrets sticking in my throat

Like undefined words

 

Moments become days

These years slip through my fingers

One grain of sand held

 

Mouth of the river

How small must we seem to thee

With current sea bound?

 

Once just a trickle

Twinkle in the (eye) of God

Dripping from corner

 

Did Adam stem tide

Upstream that blood might pass by

But still stick around?

 

Redemption, rebirth

In the haze of the river

Who remembers which?"

 

I look back down the corridor to find Hope still pouring over pages, seemingly unaware of the words spoken. I make my way back, with a glimmer of hope buoying me, but still in blue seas all around. As I approach the table I say to myself "Now if only a man can change his lot..." Hope looks up with a start "You can! It says so right here!" Feeling confused and suspicious all at once I make my way over to where she has her finger pressed to the page and I see an unusually feathered and rainbow shimmery beast with some sort of stinger on its tail, like a manticore but far more fabulous. I read the line she so happens to have just read, aloud in amused disbelief "As the shapeshifting beast flaps its wings it changes a lot..." I laugh and decide it's an unusual leap but one bursting with imagination and just my kind of nonsense. "Excellent! I'll allow it, problem solved. Wait, is this just an encyclopedia of monsters??" She nods, once more engrossed in the pages describing their many traits and natural weapons. "That isn't too scary for you?" "No! I'm not a little kid!" My eyes go wide at her unexpected assertion of will, though I am more kicking myself for not understanding well such early seeming personal timelines. "Right you are! Well..." I consider the emptiness of this library, and their purpose in general. "How about I help you check that book out so you can take it home?" She looks at me with stars in her eyes and I nod "Yep. Just in case any librarians return while we're gone we will leave a note, explaining what we've checked out and when. Normally you need a library card, but under the circumstances I am hoping an exception can be made, or perhaps that no one will even notice that it is missing before we return it." She clutches the book close to her with an overjoyed smile. This book is much longer and more detailed than the one I gave her before, I consider, staving off the hint of jealousy, although different books all have their different interests and uses. Besides, there is something special to picking out your own book, especially those special few first times. We stop by the front desk, and in the silence I pen a note and sign it, before we make our way back through the broom closet and halls.

 

We reach Hope's door, and I realize that at no point did she stop clutching her new book. I remember such excitement from my youth, in my case bordering on an obsession for knowledge. I know not to take it personally, now simply patting her on her frog hatted head as she prepares to leave and likely read more. "I'll be back tomorrow." "Thank you so much for showing me the library!" And just like that she runs through the door, closing it heavily behind. I sigh, and as I turn to leave, to my surprise, I hear the door open once more. Hope fully formed stands with what looks to be a single happy tear in her eye. Once I see her, she rushes forth and gives me the hug that she didn't that night. As she pulls away, I recognize that it may have been both a happy tear and perhaps one of regret, which now rolls down her cheek. I gently wipe it away "I knew exactly how you felt, only in your eyes could I remember feeling exactly the same way. I never doubted where I stood though." She smiles and returns to her room, once more securing the door behind her. I whistle my way back through the halls, heart filled with joy overflowing to song, pursed lips twisting to a smile as I see, here and there , nooks carved out of the walls of the halls, with recessed shelves filled with books and each with a comfy armchair, complete with its own signature library lamp. Somewhere in the distance I hear a strange bellowing squawk as well, not unlike what I imagine that fancy manticore might sound like, if it had flown off the page. "Perhaps a breeze just strong enough to change a man's lot after all..." I find myself at my door and make my way inside.