There is something changing within me, something beautiful, something new and different and… timeless.  I am Becoming.

I have discovered the idea of an afterlife, and a pre-life, and all of the infinite amount of life in between.  I am realizing that this life is a canvas and I, as a conscious being, am the artist.  I am able to write whatever story I choose to on my canvas, and can paint ANYthing I so desire.

In my possession has always been a great library.  This library, filled with ideas both great and small, in every color, has been sitting at my fingertips this entire time, and I have been too busy to notice.  I have found the library.  I’ve taken note.

Many of my books are from Ann Monday.  She gave me bags and bags full of metaphysical books; she says they were outdated.  Perhaps the prophesies were never fulfilled.  Like any spiritual book, though, every single one of these holds a piece of humanity, a piece of its author (channeled or not); in every book lies a portion of every soul that has read them.

More important than the books Ann gave me are the ones my grandmother had in her lifetime.  I have many of her old books, and have carried them with me from home to home, packing, unpacking, sometimes organized, sometimes left in boxes, and while I’ve looked at some, I have until now never noticed them.  I kept them because my mother taught me of the value of books… they are more valuable than gold.  What I didn’t know until now was that hidden within these books ARE my grandmother.  I know her through her books.  And I am amazed at how much like she I am.  Or she like I.

My grandmother knew the Secret.  She knew and practiced magick. She was everything I cannot turn my back on being.  She was a magnificent woman, and I only knew her until I was thirteen. 

This knowledge, lies near my fingertips.  I fear placing so much value on these things to know that one day they may not be here anymore.  I fear losing them, and that is one of the fastest ways to encourage something to happen to them.  I have a difficult time not being so attached to them.  My most prized possessions are older than I, are dusty, and would be prime kindling for a fire.

…and I had always dreamt of a library.  who knew that the contents would mean so much to me.

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