I thought about it late and then early again this morning, why it is that we lay the book down in the middle of reading it (or else clutch it to us) and stare off, as if to assimilate the beauty found there and integrate it within the here—to keep it here—to make it, so to say, real.
From The Body: An Essay by Jenny Boully, who happens to be coming to Corvallis this March to read, and boy am I excited. I saw this book at a bookstore in Georgetown a long time ago, back before I was into this kind of stuff, and stared at it with wonder and confusion for a while. Might even have almost bought it. I like to think that if I had I would be some kind of super-person by now.