Skip to main content

The Marble Cube



I never saw a magnificent marble cube before. The gray blending with the white embedded as pieces of a puzzle all over the walls. The concrete floor is a dark shade of gray. I'm sure if I took off my shoes and touched my feet, it would be cold.
Like a guard, the wall selects who will pass through. Natural brightness is allowed, but only the strongest bundles can reach the center of the room, exposing small particles of dust dancing in the beam of light.



Precise geometry is everywhere. Squares, rectangles, straight lines. Constancy and rhythm. No one single curve to ruin the pattern.


Everything inspires seriousness and rigidity. The respectable cold silence echoes in my ears, sometimes broken by a guide.


Suddenly my sight reaches the center of the cube, escaping from the gray boredom of edges. I feel my body slightly bow down, in reverence, captivated by the light that comes from this center.
Strong and vibrant colors, shades of brown, deep red, some speckled blue and green on the spines of the books. Lots of pages of sacred knowledge embraced in a tiny space.


The books wave to me through the special glass, but they are too precious to be here with me, in my arms, on the other side of the moat.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sacha

When I was six, the world seen from my garden was really, really amazing. I lived in a small house in the suburb, in a calm place, hidden from the rest of the world. I remember that our house was very simple, like a shoebox, which I could easily reproduce in my drawings. With a little bit of imagination and a large box of colored pencils, I used to change those boring white walls for a much better bright yellow facade and red doors. My garden was narrow, encircling the whole wall that separated our house from the street. In the spring, we had flowers of different colors and sizes. You could see ferns, azaleas, daisies. My favorite was the azaleas. With small flowers, formed by five petals of pink color, I used to play a silly game with them called daisy game while picking off one petal of a flower, and repeating alone to myself “he loves me ... he loves not”. Smart as I was, I knew that if I started with he loves me, I would always win the game, even knowing nothing about ...
Post a Comment
Read more

First Impressions Of Yale

First Impressions of Yale It was not supposed to be me here. This was my first thought when I saw all those centuries old buildings in contrast with the newer green leaves of the trees on the campus. But, I’m here. And I’m astonished. And my heart beats faster with every step ahead, as if it were the first day ofschool . And, you know, I have had a lot of first days in my life. But, this is a different topic for another story. The day starts with that known sensation of the unknown. That excitement of belonging to a new group made by so many different people from all over the world. I feel so small in front of this immensity. I feel alone in front of people with languages so different from mine. I feel that my burden is much greater than that of the teenagers around me. Otherwise, I feel hope that comes with everything that is new. A fresh start. Yes, I’m the oldest girl in my English course. Probably the oldest in my other courses, too. I've had many...
Post a Comment
Read more