Even books call me. Of course they call me; I'm intent on learning. But a calling comes from a higher, richer, or deeper place, some say from God. If we are lost inside a dream of being human it is quite reasonable to think that something much greater than our puny human selves might be calling to us to awaken and rejoin it.. I believe books call me as part of that higher communication.
From book one, one book after another has called me. I would start with a question or something I wanted to know. I would look for and find a book and it would answer my question or tell me what I wanted to know. That sounds normal enough.
After a while I craved books. I'd finish one and have to have another one ready. I'd go to bookstores and buy books in stacks. That may not sound quite so normal. But less normal is that I bought piles and piles of books—on spec. I'd stare at shelves and a title would intrigue me, or a colour. Now, I'd take a look inside and I'd buy the book because I likes the subject matter and the writer's style, but I wouldn't have a question in mind. I bought piles and piles of books this way—on spec.
Questions continued to come to mind, sometimes lots of them, sometimes I'd just be wondering about something generally. I'd look at the pile and, sure enough, the right book was there. If it wasn't immediately obvious that a book addressed that subject, I would just go with whatever book 'spoke to me.' Yes, that's how I began to describe it. They spoke to me. I'd be drawn to one book just like it was saying, 'read me next.' And that book always addressed what I wanted to know next. This didn't seem to me quite so normal.
Many times I I'd have answers in my head, speculation in response to questions I was asking. Then I'd read whatever book was calling me and that book would expand upon the very same ideas I'd come up with myself. This was beyond normal, not only that I knew the answers before I read the books, but that I knew those kinds of answers at all.
But way beyond normal was the day a year or so ago when I ignored a book that was trying to get my attention, turned around to walk away, and it flew off the shelf to the floor by my feet. I have a witness. She and I are quite persuaded that books call to us.