Is there anything more meditative than organising a bookshelf? My child loves to arrange her books by colour. The red spined ones first, then the orange, all the way upto violet to make a rainbow of book spines. Sometimes she makes mountains, alternating the tiny valleys of baby board books with the peaks of the thicker nighttime books, some plateaus thrown in here and there for good measure.
I myself like to mix it up. Some days I would obsessively organise books by genre. Those are the days when I would take a dim view of a Wodehouse nestling against Wolfhall (Alphabetic justice, but ludicrous). On other days, when no one is looking, I turn whimsical about my bookshelf. My prized Calvin and Hobbes can snuggle up with The Clash of Civilisations. The Principal Upanishads are standing shoulder to shoulder with Principles of Corporate Finance. Zia Mody’s little tome of key judgements is quietly leaning in to What the Ladybird heard. Feeling particularly impish, I even let Piketty’s Capital rub shoulders with Liar’s Poker.
Then I carefully reorganise it before anyone can see me - a bookshelf that’s not severely and painstakingly organised by subject is shockingly out of character, bound to startle those who (think they) know me. It’s a secret, guilty meditative pleasure that I share only with my books. Don’t tell anyone 😉 📕
How do you meditate?
No comments:
Post a Comment