Have you ever thought

about that book?

The Book of Life.

Is it made of stitched-together leaves

for the binding?

With furs and feathers of all the things that ever

lived as the pages.

What would be in it on those pages?

Words, drawings, pictures,

or would it just be one long series or a single

experience?

Doing what the so many innumerable writers

have all tried and failed at:

completely immersing the reader in the experiences?

Make-believe or no.

Would the mystery of life be contained on those pages?

Or maybe on that canvas, if mayhaps it is the

Tapestry of Life?

Would the answer be an enigma to all but a few?

Or would the answer be just 42?

Would the pages be empty besides the words

ALife is@?

What language would it be in?

Would it even be in the tongues of men?

Or those of any other race?

Would it be the Book, el Libro, or das Buch?

Or is the only way to describe it is through no

thought, speech, picture, word, motion, or motion, or feeling

that we know.

Is it so foreign a thing that we don=t even understand it?

If it is so grand that we

who pride ourselves with being above

all other things cannot even begin

to comprehend the idea?