I opened the door and walked into what was a sparsely decorated upstairs room...simple, wooden chair beside a small, round, wooden table. On the table was a rather large, leather-bound book and a plain ceramic vase holding some beautiful yellow flowers. The room, save for the chair and table, was quite empty, yet, nonetheless had a certain indescribable warmth and sunniness to it.
I had followed the signs leading up the stairs and down the hallway to this place, this room, where I hoped to open the "Book of Knowledge". I was not quite certain just what to expect of a place that housed a 'book' in which would be found all knowledge, all thought, all history, time in memoriam. I had often thought, perhaps, it would be a grand library with many volumes, necessary to hold such a vast amount of information. What I found instead was this simple room with a small table and chair positioned, as if not by accident, next to a sun-filled window looking out over a large expanse of fields. I was a bit puzzled, and had it not been for the sign on the wall..."Welcome. Have a seat. Smell the flowers. Open the book"...I might have gone back out the door thinking I had taken a wrong turn.
So, I sat in the chair, looking briefly out the window at the magnificent fields that stretched to the horizon. I could smell the flowers on the table beside me. Their odor was indescribably intoxicating, and for a moment I almost forgot what had brought me to this room, so full of anticipation and expectation.
I picked up the large, thick book and laid it in my lap. A certain hesitancy came over me. Seeing, opening this book was a desire I had cultivated for as long as I could remember. Perhaps it was the thought of the old cliche, "too much knowledge is a dangerous thing" that encouraged this hesitancy. I closed my eyes, took in a slow, deep breath, slowly exhaled and opened the front cover. I opened my eyes, and looking down, saw my reflection in a time worn mirror. The reflection, my reflection, simultaneously showed the lines and contours of youth and age, happiness and sadness, foolishness and wisdom. After a few moments I turned the mirrored page over to reveal the next, a blank one, save for the hand written word at the top, "Write".
I wrote this today as I was at the front desk of our church office, where I volunteer on Thursday mornings. As I was writing this I thought of an old family friend, Jac, who had recently passed away at the age of 99. he was a fine writer and thinker. I dedicate this very short story to him...Peace and blessings...