I think I am searching for something meaningless because I am looking on my phone for apps, for articles, for photos and blogs. I am looking for some answer that someone has already discovered that I might somehow benefit from by reading it alone. But no one writes anything real. I make myself read a book instead. I make myself study Spanish lessons instead.
I think I feel this void or question most when I don't entertain my mind properly. When I watch movies or television, I find myself wanting. I want to do or be some idea.... something that looks good on the show. I guess looking for it online feeds the emptiness even more, for I do not know exactly what I am looking for. And the search could be endless on the internet. Seeing pictures and promises and amazing things on my computer screen leaves me unsatisfied, full of desire, just as the movie did.
When I read a book, I am in a whole other world. My imagination is sparked by the words. My own pictures play in my mind. I even want to challenge myself: Can I read faster and remember what was said? Can I concentrate on nothing else? I marvel at how I can read an entire page and realize other thoughts consumed my attention, and the page allegedly read is lost to me. Where did the words on the page go? Because my eyes certainly trained and traced them. When I put a book down, I am not left unsatisfied. Unless, of course, I don't have time to continue the story and find out what happens next. Even then, I am left with wonder. My mind is full of thoughts. Not empty.
I think I feel this void or question most when I don't entertain my mind properly. When I watch movies or television, I find myself wanting. I want to do or be some idea.... something that looks good on the show. I guess looking for it online feeds the emptiness even more, for I do not know exactly what I am looking for. And the search could be endless on the internet. Seeing pictures and promises and amazing things on my computer screen leaves me unsatisfied, full of desire, just as the movie did.
When I read a book, I am in a whole other world. My imagination is sparked by the words. My own pictures play in my mind. I even want to challenge myself: Can I read faster and remember what was said? Can I concentrate on nothing else? I marvel at how I can read an entire page and realize other thoughts consumed my attention, and the page allegedly read is lost to me. Where did the words on the page go? Because my eyes certainly trained and traced them. When I put a book down, I am not left unsatisfied. Unless, of course, I don't have time to continue the story and find out what happens next. Even then, I am left with wonder. My mind is full of thoughts. Not empty.
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| This book blows my mind |
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