And The Eye Watched...

What I saw when I stepped into the Great Hall were rows and rows of books mounted on shelves against tiled walls which spanned every inch the corridor. I suddenly felt small--insignificant.

It was as if this vast hall of books from the smallest; those lined at the very base of the wall, to the largest; those lined on high which stopped short of blocking the menacing bright eye of the circular glass ceiling towering above them, had all been interrupted. I, the intruder of this eternal gathering, stood there, frozen, in what seemed like an eternity but which you might better understand as a stolen moment in time, to survey the enchanted spectacle in front of me.

I, a lone figure among giants of history-Faust, Bakhtin, Dickens, Woolf, Auden, Lawrence, Williams, Pound, --oh God I can't remember anymore! But I now felt as if I were on trial. I sensed my own life's history being called into question; being rapidly scrutinized and deciphered by each an every one of "them". The could feel the eye above piercing my very soul. Something escaped me, a gasp I think, as I gazed upon the gathering. I felt chapters of my life ooze out from me, extracted and beyond my grasp. I sensed chapters of my life being recorded among infinite others by these giants; these keepers of stories.

If you had been there you would understand me. It would make sense to you when I say that I am now cast upon pages; that I am in-between; I am both hard and soft-bound; written and recorded, remembered and forgotten. I encompass the past, present and future...You see, if you had been there...if you could find it, this Great Hall, you would know what I mean. I happened upon it and could not leave until I had been judged and taken note of.

And the eye watched.