I cut into a book the other day. It was my first-ever act of literary desecration. I ripped out a couple pages of lovely yet cryptic Italian passages as well as some beautiful images of classical art. The act was remarkably cathartic and I feel that a goddess of destruction and creation has been unleashed.
Today the boy handed over an old hard-cover science fiction book that he likely picked up at the recycling center. I ripped out some pages and primed others together. The cover got it's first coat of black gesso primer.
Ahh ... creation through destruction.
As I ripped and painted the pages I thought of my friend Sherrie who clings to a self-declared debilitating relationship with books ... I thought of my friend Annie who gives birth to them ... I thought of how I've never been able to dog-ear a page to mark my place ... I thought of the third card of the major arcana, number two, The High Priestess, a card that I've held dear for (too) many years. A part of me flipped back to the earliest chapters memory and I smiled a giddy smile of recreation.
Is this what goddess feels?
No wonder the sun rises each day.
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