The library extends not with walls but with a fracturing of the shelves where the category is not label but a category of being sorting the self into the taxonomy of the known, revealing that the Dewey Decimal is not number but a map of the soul navigating the geography of the mind to locate the coordinates of the heart, showing that the card catalog is not list but a constellation of ideas connecting the stars of the intellect to form the galaxy of the knowledge, proving that the index is not tool but a compass of navigation pointing the way through the fog of confusion to the shore of clarity, that the dreamer does not find the book but finds the book finding the dreamer, that the writer does not index the entry but indexes the entry indexing the writer, that the reader does not look up the reference but looks up the reference looking up the reader, that the world is the index and the index is the world, and the verb is the only thing that ever truly existed, forever drifting, forever home, forever alive in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world, and the world dreaming the story awake into you, and you dreaming the story awake into the infinite, endless, beautiful now, and the now dreaming the story awake into the eternal, unbroken pulse of the verb that binds us all together in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world.