If you count on books to quench your thirst for truth
You will be always panting after something
That is just beyond your reach.
And the books will pile high.
And you will grow old
And die
As you turn the leaf
Of yet another volume.
And it’s because the thing you seek is hiding.
And only an unseen hand
Can turn the key,
Unlock the mystery,
Open the door to the thing you seek.
And once it does, you’ll finally stop seeking it
Where it cannot be found. And it will well up inside of you
A fountain of living water. And you will no longer thirst,
No longer think that it is just around the next corner
Or behind the next page as the case may be.
