My Thoughts

I am literally under siege. Literally. I must confess I besieged myself with what some might call an addiction of the intellect. I am, I must admit well and truly addicted both of a tactile and of a mindful sense; what I suffer so grievously is that which has been identified as severe bibliophilism, a form of blatant bibliomania, aggravated by a euphoria caused by oversensitive bibliosmia. There is no cure, no vaccine, no palliative remedy; the only known preventive for further addictive behavior: an empty wallet.

I just added to my Chesterton collection[1] today. The current collection stands, soldiers aligned straight and proud, three feet upon a shelf before me; an estimated twenty inches remains unoccupied for the fourteen volumes yet missing in action. Can anyone spell prodigious? I just hope I may live long enough to read them all!

Standing tall side-by-side with Chesterton is a German troop, some thirty-two volumes, two feet in length, led by a general known variously as Joseph Ratzinger, Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, Pope and Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI. There are, I have been told, some thirty still missing in action. So many βιβλία (biblía), so little time.

I am encircled on all sides by paper mountains still growing with each passing day. Thankfully, the forces now surrounding are longtime and recent friends of whom I could not bear the thought of even a single loss. Sitting here amongst them is such great pleasure, their leaves each a beauty to bewitch the mind. So many friends (thousands of them) lift the spirits and bring wisdom to the soul.

Yesterday, words reached these aged ears that made my heart—no, my very soul—cry out in deep despairing anguish at the meanest thought: a demonic fiend demanding the burning of a bound paper soldier simply for the crime of speaking an uncomfortable truth. Speech is being silenced in this land; the gag is drawing tighter with each passing day. Say what you will, the thought police will soon knock on your door. Nineteen Eighty-Four[1] may have come and gone but the fires are just beginning at Fahrenheit 451[2].

Wakeup America.

Just my thoughts for a Tuesday, for what it is worth.

[1] G.K. Chesterton Collected Works, Ignatius Press, 39 volumes, easily 16,000 pages, spanning nearly 40 years.

[2] George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four, (Secker & Warburg, 1949).

[3] Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451, (1953).