A Book Sale

Today I was at the largest personal book sale I ever saw. It was an estate sale, and had a large variety of books, especially for a person collection.

There was a time that I roamed used book stores all the time and always bought books. But I found over the years that so many I never actually used that I don’t buy very many any more.

I was trying to work my way into this man’s mind today. He had a lot of religious books, especially study or philosophical ones. But he obviously had wide interests. He was interested in writing, because he had various books dealing with markets for writers. He had reference books – I bought a fairly new Chicago Manual of Style. He had books on Islam and Baha’i faiths. But on the other hand he also had a vast selection on anthropology and ancient history. I bought a book on the Mayan Prophecies, for instance. But he was also interested in plants and in modern history. For instance he had the official biography of Ronald Regan, which I already have, and various books by Pierre Burton, most of which I already have.

So what kind of a person are we looking at here? He could have been a minister, or priest, but he didn’t have any books on counselling. I doubt he was married, because he had no books dealing with marriage or family. I think he was a man who dreamed (like I do at times) of being a writer. I think he had a lot of ideas that he would have liked to share, but it never happened. I left the place feeling sad, because I felt that had trodden on the shattered dreams of an unfulfilled person. My wife, on the other hand, thinks he was a seeker looking for spiritual fulfillment. Like Solomon, trying to find answers that were always just a step out of his reach.
Really, I think both could be right. In either case, it’s a sad legacy. His house was a run down rental. Very uncomfortable. Half full of books and a few cheap possessions that no one really wanted.

He was 8 years older than I am, when he died. So I wondered a bit about what others would think of my prized possessions when I was gone? I even thought a bit about what they are – and I decided that mine were mostly books, and a couple of computers. Doesn’t seem like much. And I wondered how many of the dreams that I still have left will be just that when I die. All my life I have felt that something was around the corner, but I’ve never found it. I suspect that this was what this man was like – somehow I could really identify with him.

Sort of depressing….

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