Some libraries are real, but they don’t exist in our world. Within the confines of the library, there are trees shaped like spheres with branches growing in the middle. They float in the air and seem to grow without soil. The spherical trees were repositories of knowledge accumulated and passed down through the centuries. How is this done? If someone can climb into the trees, thoughts will come to their minds; then they will start to understand what the tree imparts through knowledge. Other parts of the library contain books, and some of the shelves extend to the ceiling. These ceilings were different. They were part of a library world. The vaulting was as high as the earth to the sky, actually the upper atmosphere. Now, if the bookshelves were so tall, how would anyone search for a volume? These walkways along the shelves and elevators uplifted people to any level without mechanical or electrical workings. There were winding stairs that weren’t used too often. Small structures and places existed that held books with overhead lamps that radiated yellowish nauseating light. Such lights were difficult to read; a reader could call a floating globe lamp with daylight illumination. In some very distant part of the library, an old man practically lived there; he read in deep thought without any social interaction. He was messy and decrepit, absorbed into infinity; what did that mean? That was a question no one could ask or answer. Maybe he was finding something in the many books he once found but forgot about.
People came in from around the world to research and found what they needed in the library. The old man said nothing, they were on their own, but they seemed to know what they were looking for. The library seemed to be a structure from the outside, yet it wasn’t a structure with any architectural or cultural elements; it looked different to anyone who saw it. People entered it in all other ways. Around vortex could open in a wall, in the surrounding air, or anywhere else; there was no limit to where it would appear. There was a key to get in, but lately, anyone who could enter the vortex would not move from place to place as it had done to keep from anyone finding it for security reasons. There were other ways of entering, millions of pathways.
Some people researched books at the library and never left; they made their home there. Where did their food and amenities of life come from? They probably went to the library through the vortex to get food at a restaurant in the cities and towns. Someplace in the library, kitchens seemed to grow like plants, but there were places where vegetables grew. The old man didn’t mind, and he was too absorbed in his thing. The library operated itself; whatever people were asking for, the library provided through their thoughts.
It was an endless library; miles could be walked, and all there were books, some never touched by human hands or hardly read in centuries. The old man or anyone else in the mythical world knows about the entire library; there might be places never explored. Beacons existed that would lead a library traveler back to the entrance or the center where the old man lives.
Who researched the books? There are whole communities that live there. They organized and re-shelved the books and did what was necessary. Patrons of the library rarely saw these people; everything is arranged as if by magic.
Small and large bodies of water separated bookshelves and sections. Vaults existed where there were ancient books from every part of the universe and multiverses.
Every language on earth of the mythical world is represented in the library. Some mountains exist in the library where sections of languages never known lived. The borders defined by streams and mountains are symbolic representations of lands, races, and religions. Streams, rivers, pools of water, and lakes have bridges to cross on the other side.
A library is an exciting place, and all things are collected, and machines large and small are collected from every multiverse. If you’re in the mythical world, visit the library.
Robert J. Matsunaga
