It's within the pages of a book that I find a force stronger than any drug I could imagine.
I can be anyone-a peasant struggling to keep her family feed with her meager earnings, or a mother doing the routine life , or a duchess who wears the jewels that catch the sunlight a million ways yet struggles to learn they don't define her, or an orphan going the disjointed disbelief of being alone.
I can be anywhere- a dirty shack cooking over an open fire, on a trail west in a wagon, revisiting the vineyards of Italy or retracing my steps through the Barcelona museums.
I can be anything- the linguistic lover, changing languages as easy as changing carbon dioxide to oxygen, or a doctor who fights the Spanish influenza pandemic, or the war nurse who stitches up one victim after the other or the leader of the stagecoach bandits stealing the wealthy victims jewels.
I can feel any emotion- anticipation, loss, love, heartache, joy, victory, peace, strength, reconciliation.
Once caught within its grasp, turning anyway becomes a matter of mind versus will. The mind keeps turning-imagining the next sequence of events; while the will demands you set the book aside for greater responsibilities-those of reality.
Some days I win, others I succumb. It isn't a matter of failure but rather a test of maturity. What do I value? Sleep? A walk down memory lane? Growing My relationship with God?
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