*In the Library*

I found myself in the Library. The offcenteredness of things shook me, as the place likened itself at one moment to a medievalish springtime forest and at another moment to a vast Baroque ballroom, wooden paneled walls and high hanging chandeliers. The duality was continual, but whether of spontaneous shifting oscillation or unchanging studied interconnectedness I could not divine. Where, I wondered, is the Librarian?

He leaped up from behind a rock, flipped once in mid-air before he landed, then glared at me, then grinned. Bone-thin and diminutive, he wore a ruffled skin-tight body-suit, a party-mask, and jewel-studded rings.

I told myself confidence, preparing for the contest to come. As always, there were things I would borrow from the Library, but I would need to engage the Librarian in a rhetorical tangle. He would mock me, trick me, intimidate me any way he could. I must be stronger than he; I must beat him, trap him, or somehow impress him, before he would lend his aid.

"What is it you seek?" he asked me.

"Do you mean here and now? Or for an ultimate goal?"

"Tell me the ultimate."

"It is unspecified. But there will be a lawn, a tower, a pasture, and a lake."

"You are a dreamer. You will never achieve your desires."

"I judge on principle, not by result."

"Futility in principle is waste."

"But honesty and loyalty are noble."

"Not if the cause is obsolete."

"But what if the cause is beautiful?"

He paused. "Very well. What would you borrow?"

A smile broke across my face. From this Library, one borrows not books but things: objects, elements, energies, creeds, philosophies. "I need garments," I remarked. "I should look the part I play."

"Done," the Librarian answered. He became calm and serious, then seated himself at the grand, carven harpsichord at his right. He played a short and tight melody, its notes like a school of discerning scientists, and, sure enough, I found myself dressed as a high honored lord. "Satisfied, dreamer?" he asked.

I could not answer. I was reminded that what is born from Library materials may or may not be real and permanent. If real, the works will stand, tangible and trustworthy, wherever they reside, for as long as time allows. If unreal, the works will stand only within the confines, veering and unstable as they are, of the Library itself. Leave the Library, and any unreal works vanish, lost forever. I stifled my desire for the certainty of a definite answer. "Yes, I am satisfied. But I want more."

"You are self-indulgent," the Librarian remarked, rising from the harpsichord and approaching me once again. "You seek too much."

"Not if what I seek is a connection, a contact."

"Many connections are tenuous."

"These bind via history."

"History is in debate."

"Interpretations, yes, but not physical facts."

He nodded. "Very well. What would you borrow?"

"A weapon. A symbol of my strength."

"Better to demonstrate your faith, dreamer, because without it, your strength may be misdirected. Nevertheless, your request shall be granted." He returned to the giant harpsichord and played a contemplative tune. The notes rose and curled about each other, not unlike the gracious, leafy swirls on the polished mahogany of the instrument itself.

An eight-foot great-axe appeared before me. I grasped it and attempted to raise it, but its weight resisted. I was annoyed: not only at the weapon's weight but at the Librarian's jibe at my faith. An ire boiled within me, and at once my task was clear, for faith must not be blind and a need for certainty approached. The entire Library may be only a sham, and how could I continue to work from it, to borrow its tools and supplies, to build and shape and polish... if all I have accomplished is an image and a show?

The Librarian, sensing my discontent, moved away from me and crouched. I met his eyes, grinning in spite of my anger, and I grasped the handle of the great-axe. Shouting, I pulled with all my might, and I at last lifted the weapon from the ground. Straining, I raised it over my shoulder and stepped forwards.

"Dreamer!" the Librarian called. "Retreat or pay a neverending price for your actions!"

"I must meet my materials!" I stepped forwards. "Any price will be worthy!"

"You are mistaken! Where are your memories?"

"I will make new ones!" I approached the unguarded harpsichord.

"Where is your trust?"