The bookshelf sat there, three widths wide. Under the window, which today showed a blue sky. Sometimes there were a few clouds or a light fog covering the 20 mile spread of 14,000 peaks.
The bookshelf had Blavatsky. A book on cosmology and spiritual-scientific insights. A book to remind the reader not to take it too seriously.
There was Crowley. Several books. 4 to be precise. The Book of the Law. The Collected Works. Diary of a Drug Fiend. And, well. Book 4.
Dr. John Dee’s extensive revitalization, resurfacing to sit on the shelf for a millennia or two.
You could read Paracelsus if you wanted. You might read on Alchemy.
Or you should just sip some coffee, some cocoa. Knowing Jerusalem would be as it was. On the bookshelf.
Mythology and philosophy – occult at that. Mystic logic. Manufactured 4s. Or were they all just silly little doors?