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I don’t treat bibliomancy as fortune-telling, and I don’t recommend outsourcing every decision to a random page. But I do believe in the way a beloved text can catch the light just right and show you what you already sensed. In a world ruled by clocks and headlines, there’s something tender about letting meaning arrive without chasing it—about trusting that a line, chosen without your controlling hand, can help you listen. That’s bibliomancy as I’ve come to know it here: a ritual doorway between uncertainty and attention, opened by a book that’s been waiting on the shelf all along. This is a part of an ongoing series of writings.
I don’t treat bibliomancy as fortune-telling, and I don’t recommend outsourcing every decision to a random page. But I do believe in the way a beloved text can catch the light just right and show you what you already sensed. In a world ruled by clocks and headlines, there’s something tender about letting meaning arrive without chasing it—about trusting that a line, chosen without your controlling hand, can help you listen. That’s bibliomancy as I’ve come to know it here: a ritual doorway between uncertainty and attention, opened by a book that’s been waiting on the shelf all along. This is a part of an ongoing series of writings.