Preservation

When I was about 11 or so, I was given an illustrated (with color photos of the artifacts!) novel about Egypt, which followed the transformation of a young "grave robber" into a young archaelogist. Though it probably wasn't great literature, I liked it.

I'm not sure I'd re-read it if I found it again, but the fact that it was part of my life for a while and I haven't a clue where it is or what the title or author was, can feel like an itch.

"It was part of your life, why don't you still have it?"

On the sofa is a children's book, "Into the Mummy's Tomb," that reminded me of that itch, and of the irony of it. The pharoah's thought they were gods, and tried to take all the treasures of their lives with them.

But only God, for whom all time is now, can preserve all our treasures. We use them up or lose them, and can't even step into the same stream twice for a treasured experience. The second kiss doesn't have the same surprise as the first one: better or worse, it's different.

The bookshelves, despite some culling, still have some things that I enjoyed once. I mustn't try to be pharaoh. I read something about "the one who tries to save his life will lose it." Souvenirs can clog as well as encourage.