Imagine yourself a stranger in a strange land. One day, you leave your home and go out for a meditative walk. You have no plans, no goals or direction. You just head out the door, and follow the pull of whatever comes. You eventually find yourself in front of an old used books store. You aren’t sure how you got here, but you decide to follow the whims of the universe and go inside.

Inside, there are piles of semi-organized books. You’re greeted by the shopkeeper and decide to browse. A subtle pull directs your attention toward a collection of antique books. They’re so old that you fear all but the most delicate touch will damage them. Carefully, you begin to handle the books.

One in particular, an unlabeled leather-bound book, calls to you from the pile of it’s fellows. A closer examination reveals there to be no publisher’s information, table of contents, nor even an author. You’re puzzled, but intrigued, and continue your examination. Quickly, you determine that the handwriting is indicative of multiple authors. It’s in multiple languages, too. Indeed, some entries appear ancient, while others appear to have been written fairly recently… the ink is barely dried, on some pages. With some difficulty, you can understand some of the writing, although you note a disturbing feeling as your eyes scan the various disjointed texts.

The shopkeeper lets out an agitated cough, snapping you out of your trance, and you notice it’s getting dark outside. How long have you been reading, you can’t say. You decide to make an offer for the book. As you approach the owner, you notice a look of confusion on their face. They don’t recognize it either, although they’re happy to accept your purchase of this weird book.

Thank you.