There lies the well-worn book of your life. The resource, the only resource. No matter what the question, this book is where you turn for answers.
This book defines the limits of your imagination and it is unabridged as far as you are concerned. Thus, if a subject comes up that you know is not to be found in the table of contents, you go look for another book.
If you need help with a hyperbolic cosine, there are many math books available to help you. But when you need information about yourself, the number of books available are reduced to zero.
Nor will there ever be any books written about you, as a person, because no one will ever have that knowledge. No one is privy to the latent ideas floating around in your mind, or what forces have the most influence for you.
That is why your ‘book’ becomes stale, its dynamism so shallow. It has been relegated to nothing but a large journal. It has no interplay with anything of a higher nature.
Your book is nothing but a linear, one-chapter recollection of events. Think of how many times it has been opened to one specific section of recurring importance and ponder how limited the information to be found there was. Almost nothing to share, and yet you have lived with that disappointment year after year.
How exciting, how enticing, how exhilarating would it be to one day open the book and find that all the previous pages were glued together and a new page at the back became visible, entitled . . . Chapter Two.
Not only were the original pages glued together, the memory of their contents was floating away. There is a new, tingling feeling, of hope and excitement. The page takes on a new dimension of depth, as if you could see right into it – Infinitely.
This moment was complete with a bond – a knowing – that a new chapter was there, ready for you to experience it. Little nudges happened which conveyed subtleties like; the ridiculousness of turning to a book for answers, the absurdity of relying on things that are limited.
Soon, there was no book, no words, no givens, no mediocrity . . .
just – the Infinite.
The Infinite 