Reading My First Book — A Mind-Altering Experience

My inner dialogue appeared as a result of reading just one book

A desire to know

I was 14 when I seriously considered reading my first book. Up to that point, I wasn’t interested. I had a computer when I was 4 years old, and for me, that lead to a love for playing video games, and I hadn’t developed any other interest thought my teens, until one summer camp

I started taking karate lessons, and I enjoyed doing it. But it was more a social experiment than anything else. I did it because my friends like it, so I also wanted to give it a try. The karate club that I joined organized from time to time training camps. In the summer the club organized a training camp that I attended, and a lot of things happened, but what impacted me the most was a story from our karate teacher. He told us about his life, how he grew up, how he became independent at an early age by reading, taking initiative, cooking for himself, doing his cleaning. I was intrigued by that story because, at that age, a desire for independence and freedom started growing on me.

It took about a year until I took an action based on the feeling I got by listening to my teacher’s story. For me, and my understanding, reading somehow would have led to greater growth for myself, and making steps towards my independence.

My first book of choice was the Conquest of Happiness by Bertrand Russel. It isn’t an easy book for anyone, let alone a 15-year-old. I didn’t enjoy it, it was hard for me to focus, to remain consistent, to understand anything really from the book, but a feeling started to make waves inside me. I was experiencing for the first time a second view of my inner voice. It was like doing mindfulness meditation when you are paying attention but you let go of whatever enters your field of attention. I was seeing my thoughts, and I realized that they weren’t necessarily my thoughts but a sort of reaction to my surroundings. My identity started to take shape and it had its first baby steps into my field of conscious experience

After realizing what was happening I’ve observed that reading somehow was an exercise for the development of my identity, for the creation of my own narrative line of thoughts. I finished the book through a painful process of forcing myself to read just enough to be a little bit consistent. After I finished it, I was overjoyed, it wasn’t much by any standards but it was much for me, and it led to an ecstatic experience that created my ferocious appetite for reading.

An ecstatic experience

I wasn’t interested in my schooling experience, for me school at that age seemed dull, colorless, and boring.

I started to read in my classes, whenever I could. Initially not because I liked reading that much, but my class lessons were so unpleasant to attend to, that reading seemed like a ride through waves of intense fascination

In the following years, I would read pretty much anything that I would get into my hands. My interest gravitated towards the easier books, which included fantasy and science fiction. I would also read from time to time the hardest books I heard about, that seemed to have an interesting story. I read things like The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho), Crime and Punishment (Feodor Dostoievski), Perfume (Patrick Suskind), etc. I understood some books, others I did not.

Regardless of my understanding or lack of it, I continued to read books and enrich my capacity to understand. I felt that after every book I could understand the next one better. My vocabulary got better, I seemed to be able to focus better and I developed insight into my psyche.

It was a beautiful experience, my realm of imagination would explode with colors and sensation and it felt better every time I cruised through rounds of books.

I believed that I reached the climax of what the reading experience could offer but I couldn’t be more wrong. I discovered the philosophy teachings, and the real growth started to manifest itself.

Asking questions

In some of the books I read, I seemed to keep getting into the same pattern of thought and references. I was reading dialogues that had philosophical ideas but I did not know what philosophy was. I wouldn’t read any of the works of Plato or Aristotle until later on but I had a textbook for my philosophy class that had fragments of the various philosophers’ works. Those fragments were stunning, they were jewels of understanding of human nature that I haven’t met before.

I was thrilled, I kept reading them and I felt that with every reading I could understand something else. Those fragments indicated that I should pose questions, that I should put forwards in my existence the idea of wonder. I was asking questions but not by my initiative, just as a reaction, as a means through an end. I was asking them just to get from A to B, not a question that leads to bizarre answers, foggy arguments, and contemplative directions. It was beautiful, the question themselves were not a bridge towards a simple destination but a journey into the realms of imagination.

I realized that a question doesn’t always lead to a clear answer. Questions and answers for me were a clear, linear, and finite experience. After reading through philosophy I met questions that led to endless journeys through time and space.

What is the meaning of life? It was one of the most interesting questions that I’ve pondered. I am still thinking about this question even today, the answer was a continuous cycle of ideas that evolved from everything I’ve experienced. I studied various possible answers that religious traditions would have to offer. My answer would change based on my knowledge, I had times when I was sure that I got the answer, but at some point, I would always start to doubt it. Life is a complicated mess and it can make you question everything.

I am not sure what is the answer, but I don’t mind the uncertainty. Because I found through the Taoist teachings that in the everlasting change the answer is to be found. It could be nothing and it could be everything, embracing the uncertainty brought meaning into my life, and with that the transcendence of my preconceptions.

Reading a continuous journey — Reaching transcendence

Reading over the years, led me to develop a better capacity to focus and with that a better immersion into the realms that were unfolding before my eyes of imagination.

In the journeys that I have experienced through reading what I started to observe was the fact that at some points I could lose myself almost completely in my reading. Through the emphatic link that I was forming with the character of the story I was reading, I could detach from myself and for brief seconds I could transcend my form and be part of the story. I laughed, cried, and mourned with the characters I was reading about. Their stories almost became my story, and I could feel my field of consciousness expanding.

One of my favorite books which I’ve read several times is Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. That book had a monumental impact on my life and it shaped parts of who I was and who I wanted to become.

The main character of the book goes on a hero’s journey, and for me, his character development led to my self-development.

I won’t get into any other details about the book, but those who find it won’t regret it.

I would spend countless hours reading and thinking about the books I was fascinated by. It was a beautiful experience to have this as a teen, and I am grateful that I could have it.

Reading for me is a passage to the realm of imagination and a catalyst for my self-development.