I hate packing and moving books.
This has always been true, but it became especially real when I closed my bookstore in Streator last year.
It didn’t seem possible that such a small space could hold what seemed like thousands of books when it was time to clear out.
This whole matter is especially challenging, since I prefer to read books in their real form, rather than electronically. I have a Kindle Fire, but I rarely use it.
It’s just not the same.
And, I am heartened that small, independent bookstores appear to be making a comeback, at least according to reports I have read.
Bookstores (and libraries) are magical places.
They are necessary to grow civilized societies.
Still, I will be moving early next year, and the reality is, I do not want to move the book collection I have amassed with me.
Nor does my fiancé.
At least not in its current form.
My books are stored on shelves in my bedroom, so I literally breathe them in while I sleep. And some of them find themselves in piles next to me, along with my dog Zeke. (I know I am not the only one who does this, so don’t judge!)
It is a big bed. There is a great deal of room for books. Lots of books.
So, over the past month, I have made several rounds through my shelves, as I have ruthlessly, yet sometimes hesitatingly, downsized.
All book lovers know it is a near impossible task to decide which books stay and which ones go.
We have spent lifetimes accruing these living organisms, and we can often see how our souls have evolved, just by taking a look at the books we possess.
In some cases, it seems like we must decide which of our children get to stay, and which must go.
I have books in my collection I have referred to repeatedly, as they have seen me through good times and bad, again and again.
How could I possibly get rid of them?
As I have been cutting and slashing, there is one group of books I have not touched, and I don’t plan to.
These are books by and about women writers through the centuries, particularly women spiritual writers.
These writers are my ancestors, my tribe.
Many of these women have expressed their voice in extremely difficult social and political times, often not respected, simply because of their gender. Some of them have even risked their lives to speak about the Beloved in whom they find their heartbeat, and from whom they find their passion.
And yet, their words carry on, centuries and sometimes millennia after they walked the Earth.
Because women’s voices are necessary to grow civilized societies.
Even when I don’t open these books, I know the women whose works fill these pages are present to me, teaching, mentoring and encouraging me.
These women’s works remain alive, and continue to reach all corners of existence they are meant to go. I don’t pretend the words I write are on the same level as theirs, and yet, as a writer, this is why I do what I do.
First, because I must write. (See “Letters to a Young Poet,” by Rainer Maria Rilke.)
But more importantly, because it’s the gift I have been given, for the Holy One to use according to the Divine Plan.
When I sit down and write, I often sense my thoughts and words are being guided by a larger force, to go into the world and be used in myriad ways of which I have no idea.
So, in my mind anyway, it is a win-win situation.
I get to sit at my laptop and clack away at my keyboard to my heart’s content, often oblivious to how far my words will travel, and readers whose eyes land on my words will be affected in ways unique to their life stories.
It is a sacred vocation, to be a writer.
It is a sacred benediction to be a woman writer.
- SPIRIT MATTERS is a weekly column that examines experiences common to the human spirit. Contact Jerrilyn Zavada at jzblue33@yahoo.com to share how you engage your spirit in your life and community.