Books are heavy, not necessarily one at a time, but when there are many, yes they are, and so this morning my sacrum area is asking for a little more ease in the movement and sorting of thousands of books.  One wall of our living room hosts floor to ceiling books. I’m trying to clear that out so that I can move books that cover two walls in each of the other bedrooms onto the living room shelves.

I’m making progress but I see there will still be books in the back of the house and that is okay since books make a house a home but there will be a little more space, and each book will feel comfy with its neighbors on the shelf.

John Keats wrote that “My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.”

Perhaps that’s what these books mean to me.  I am their keeper, and I love what they bring to and inspire in me.  I look around and feel the leaves of their pages feed and nourish me.

It’s the fifth of January, a glorious day here, and I’m happy to fill the monastery of my imagination as I honor the priestess I am.

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