Books And Books

It was a sad day when William Blake shot himself in his library. When the police arrived at his home shortly after his wife called him, they found most of his books lying on the floor with some of the pages ripped out. His wife was standing near his body crying profusely while clutching his suicide note in her trembling hand. They wondered why such a renowned writer such as he would have even thought about killing himself. He seemed to have such a wonderful life. The homicide detective asked her what was written in the note, so she handed it over to him.

The note said, “I had too many books to read. They just sat on their shelves laughing at me while I tried my hardest to read as many as I could.  Intelligence is that selfish patronizing world that always seems to keep its distance away from me. When I find myself finally grasping a new concept, it opens a new avenue to another that will also eventually keep its distance away. Revelations are like the sweetest fruit that is too high up on the tree to pick. All I could do was just imagine what the highest books on my shelf could have said without knowing what they did say.

I had to know at least the infallible truth that keeps avoiding me; the truth about the hereafter. I imagine it will be what intelligence doesn’t know. It only prides itself with life as it is in the present. I will finally catch up to it and surpass it. Unless I experience it, I will never know what it is.

Please forgive me, my sweet wife, for being so selfish, but I had to know the truth. Give my love to the children and ask them for my forgiveness. I left enough money for all of you to live comfortably on. I know I was extremely selfish, but I had to know. Your loving husband and father, William.”

Life after death will come in due time. That is one truth that one has to wait to find. Since life is just a fleeting moment in the age of eternity, William is only a fraction of that moment. Intelligence isn’t that selfish patronizing world, but a world of giving. It gladly avails itself to everyone. Books can only describe the hereafter, but cannot put you in it. Only time can do that. William had the desire but not the patience to find it.

As featured in "White Liquor" magazine

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