Imagine you have just stepped inside a small book shop. Your first step places you on a thick woven rug. Floor-to-ceiling shelves make aisles around you. Quietly to yourself you whisper I could discover something in here, and you begin your search. For what? You’re not sure. Little potentials of discovery respond to you, pulling your eye from this shelf to that. You’re excited, alert, and open. After a few moments taking slow steps, smelling the book shop smell, your eye rests on a thin slip of white binding smushed between two volumes. It looks out of place, homemade. The other books on the shelf are more dignified. This one is probably not supposed to be here. You reach for it. It is very light, a paperback. You turn it over in your hand to see the front cover. Flipping aside the front cover reveals an inscription. You look up. The book shop is still there, suspended in silence. You repeat a few words, “close my mouth around the whole wide world.” You think why would you want to do that? You turn over one more page,

You have a choice. Do you keep reading?