A book is a seed
There was this book, waiting for me at my parents’ house for about 20 years.
It was given to me, when I was a teenager, by a much older man who had taken a liking to me. He used to be a school principal – not one that I attended – but when he gave me the book he was already retired and probably well past his 60s.
I did like him, but I didn’t like the book back then. I mean, I appreciated the thought, and the inscription he wrote me, and his good intentions. That was more than a good enough gift for me: I didn’t need the book, and it didn’t mean much to me that I didn’t feel compelled to read it.
So there it stayed, on a shelf. And then it was moved to another house, and to another shelf. And to a third house, over all these years, to yet another shelf.
Until yesterday.
I noticed it almost “by chance” – for those who like to believe in chance.
I took it. I read the inscription. I read the fist few pages, and I knew it.
It was on. I decided there and then that I would finally read it.
A few weeks ago, I was talking with a friend about potential. She said seeds are potential trees, but some can stay seeds for many years before germinating.
She was making the point that she was sick and tired of waiting for potential to just develop, and that inexpressed potential was just worthless if it stayed at that level, and she’d rather actively turn it into something.
But this morning, when I remembered about her words, another meaning came to my mind. A seed can wait, patiently, and still retain all that life within itself, until the right moment comes along. Then it just needs a bit of water, and boom!
Today I’ve been on a train after several months. I like trains because I don’t have to focus on the road, I don’t have to think much about anything, and I can read. I can’t read on a bus, that’s why I’d much rather travel by train.
It was raining when I got out. It rained all day.
When I took out my book, it was a bit wet. And I thought to myself: it’s been in perfect conditions for 20 years, unused and useless; and today that I took it with me, its first day out there in the world, it’s been already damaged and it now looks like an old, used book. But still, it is more useful now, even in these conditions, that it ever was before.
And I thought that a book can wait, patiently, and still keep its meaning. Until the right moment comes along, and we’re ready to heed its calling.
The old man is no longer with us. He’s been dead for a few years now, I don’t even know how many: maybe 10, maybe less, maybe more.
But that’s not important. I could remember him today, thank him, maybe even pray for his soul in a weird way (I’m not used to praying).
And the book is not important either. I’m just happy I took it. I really like it. This morning I was almost moved to tears twice in about half an hour.
Then I was out and about, and it’s been raining all day, as I mentioned. So, when I got back in the train, the book was even wetter than before.
And who knows, maybe it’s finally sprouting!