I wonder if the architect who designed my city’s central library knew how much his building has in common with a human life. The library is eight stories — four above the ground and four below. The aboveground floors have books and videos on literature, art, music, popular culture, recreation, and sports — those sorts of outward expressions that enliven the surface of the human condition.
To get to the lower levels of the library, one takes a series of escalators which move down through an atrium and past those areas of human endeavors that are a little more mundane: business, science, technology, and government. But as one continues down the escalators, moving deeper into the recesses of the building, one comes across the sections on philosophy, religion, spirituality, and finally at the very lowest floor: genealogy and history, the source of who we are as individuals and communities.
Riding down the escalators, I feel like I am traveling into the womb of the world. On the way there, I get off on each floor, explore it, make discoveries, and get back on and continue moving. Living one’s life is much like this: sometimes you just got to get off the ground floor and take that ride.
You just might make some glorious discoveries.