Body of Knowledge

A book is a binding of truth. Truth is out there, first in the world, long before anyone commits it to paper. The written form is subject to the errors of brain and body and language, a lesser truth.

A book is a stack of papers bound on edge, pasted with glue or stitched with thread. Websites are also bound, a collection of web pages linked to a single domain name. A book is covered, stamped with a title and name, a face to attract and sell. A book’s binding is covered with a spine for finding on a shelf. A spine, as if a book can stand up and speak its name. Websites too are covered with a banner on a home page, and announced by title and snippet in a search result. The coverings gives identity and soul at a glance, as if truth could ever be bound and tidy.

Every reading is another binding, an embodiment of truth, enlisting the brain and the whole body. From the beginning knowledge has been a whole body experience. When Adam knew Eve his wife, and she conceived, they were reading the first book.

Reading belongs to the eyes. Reading is a lamp of knowledge, a light illuminating the darkness of ignorance. I read the text, my eyes bouncing all over the page. My knowledge can only be acquired as fast as my eyes can read it.

The nose is a perch for my spectacles while reading. The smell of books is not in leather, ink or moldy pages. No, the smell of books is in feelings. I read about an orchid. The elusive smell is activated. Is it raspberry or coconut? It is delicate and exotic, reminiscent of a past love.

I learned to read with my ears, listening to my mother’s voice. I imagine the voice of an author or a character in a book. Adults still sound out difficult words, trying to recreate the original speech sounds. For centuries, most everyone read aloud, mouth and lips in motion.

Reading is fingery. My thumb lets me grasp and behold a book. I flip pages. I bookmark a page with a finger. I brush the pages, guessing how much reading remains. Reading online I click and scroll and swipe. I turn the pages of my e-reader with a touch. Print or digital, reading is fingery.

Of course the brain features in reading. Learning to read takes years of training, recognizing the shapes of letters, detecting subtle differences in words, encoding units of meaning. Reading is physical work in the brain.

Even the feet are enlisted in reading. Too much reading blurs the questions and dulls the mind. Walking refreshes my spirit and reconnects me to the world where the questions were first asked. True understanding is a dance, a two step between the bindings of books and bodies and first hand experience in the world.

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