[From our outpost at Spacey Panda Blog]

Which Book Would Be YOUR Constant Companion?

Books can serve as lucky charms, and some famous figures have kept special books on their persons as talismans or glorified guidebooks for navigating through life — and even through death, when they've asked for those books to be buried with them.  A single volume as a manual for existence?  That's not so farfetched, if one considers the holographic principle that a whole system (macrocosm) is mirrored and contained on a smaller scale (microcosm).  Viewed that way, any one book encapsulates the entire human experience.  If you don't already carry a single book everywhere you go, what might you choose?  I uncovered a score of intriguing examples throughout history, but how about an unusual suggestion to consider first?

Wisdom traditions suggest that life is but a dream, so why not keep a dream dictionary to hand at all times so as to interpret all that we see and to foster "lucid waking"?  There are A-Z dream manuals with tens of thousands of entries, covering most anything you might encounter during the course of your day.  Some dream interpretations even relieve tensions you'd otherwise develop.  For example, 12,000 Dreams Interpreted notes that encountering a hearse, which might typically seem an ill omen, actually means "a lightening of your burdens and worries."  You'll see everything in a new way by wakefully consulting a dream dictionary.

Now for the score of examples, and we'll close with an alternative to lugging a heavy book around, for those who are already juggling enough every day.

• Eminent psychologist Carl Jung kept the Tibetan Book of the Dead as his "constant companion."
• President Abraham Lincoln always carried a copy of Artemus Ward's joke book to lighten his moods.
• Dutch humanist Hugo Grotius always carried a copy of the Roman poet Lucan in his pocket and kissed it several times in the course of the day.
• The philologist Sir William Jones always carried a copy of Horace in his pocket, and his will ordered that it should be buried with him.
• President of the Republic of Texas Sam Houston always carried a copy of Gulliver's Travels.
• Novelist Stephen Crane always carried a copy of Poe's work with him.
• Italian poet Giosuè Borsi always carried a copy of Dante in his coat pocket.
• General Stonewall Jackson always carried a copy of Napoleon's Maxims and a copy of the dictionary.
• French politician Jules Roche always carried a copy of Goethe's Faust in his pocket.
• Hollywood actor Sally Field always carried a copy of Will Durant's Story of Philosophy with her.
• Macedonian king Alexander the Great always carried a copy of Homer corrected by Aristotle.  Likewise, the trailblazing pharmacist Charles Rice always carried a copy of the Odyssey in his coat pocket.
• The Tibetan Buddhist monk called the Red Lama always carried a copy of the New Testament in his red shawl.
• War correspondent Webb Miller always carried a copy of Thoreau's Walden, which he read whenever he was upset.
• English civil engineer Joseph Locke always carried a copy of Byron in his pocket.
• Naturalist, mathematician, and cosmologist Count de Buffon always carried a copy of the elements of Euclid.
• Social reformer Frederick Douglass always carried a copy of Noah Webster's American Spelling Book in his pocket.
• Hollywood actor William Eythe always carried a copy of The Life of Chopin in his pocket, just in case he ran into someone who would listen to him read it.
• Italian ruler Ludovico III always carried a copy of Caesar's Gallic Wars.
• British architect Inigo Jones always carried wherever he went the work of Venetian Renaissance architect Andrea Palladio.

Another way to keep a vital text with oneself is to memorize a beloved passage and bring it to the forefront of one's mind at key junctures (important events, stressful moments, unexpected turning points, upon beginning or completing tasks, and so on).  A friend has carried the following poem with her for decades, since childhood.  I reproduce it below for two reasons: it's nifty in its own right, but it's also surprisingly rare.  The search engine delivered zero results for it.  But, being tenacious, in a very roundabout way I tracked it down to what appears to be its single instance on the internet, in the March 1934 issue of an obscure journal called The Hoosier Res-cuer (the hyphen is part of the title), which was published by the patients of a tuberculosis sanatorium in Rockville, Indiana.  

So proudly now I'll hold my head
As each tomorrow comes
That those who look at me will think
I walk to singing drums.

And maybe some of them will say
They wish that life would be
Just half as gay and nice to them
As it has been to me.

If they should bring me little griefs
And little dreams to heal,
I think that I could help because
I'll know the way they feel.
—Helen Welshimer

The only word my friend had misremembered was in the third line.  She had changed the word "think" to "know," having transformed brain-level mentation with the deeper heart-level knowing.  By the way, 12,000 Dreams Interpreted says that to dream of poetry "betokens an interesting and unusual new friend."  Could I be that new friend?  I'm Prof. Oddfellow, a.k.a. Craig Conley.  Let's get acquainted at MysteryArts.com.