Looking for a specific Book; Can you help?

The Infinite Library welcomes member from all dimensions and worlds, and I’m one of them. Hello. I’ve been told I can’t get published in this reality because I’m physically not real here, but this doesn’t bother me. If something as disgusting as Kafka can be shelved here, so can I. As always,

Follow the Infinite Library, or it will follow you.

The room was white, rectangular, though one of the walls was semi-transparent and you could see shapes and a faint reflection of sunlit green trees in a garden that must have been somewhere outside. I entered a company of four or five men, mysteriously content and happy to see me. I knew them in this dream, and I remember them from other nights, but I don’t know who they are and I’ve never seen them in reality.

It was a very special occasion. Each of us was there because we each had vast knowledge of many things and one big gap — a question we couldn’t answer. We met because each of us needed the other four to all combine their knowledge and form a complete explanation to fill that gap. If we were successful, we would all leave with an answer to a very fundamental question, one we can’t find answers to ourselves.

I arrived last and the discussion began. We spoke about many things I cannot remember — at all times, my gaze was slipping towards a small book on the table. One of the guys had his elbow on it, and as we talked and laughed and argued, the never revealed the cover of the book. Not until I asked my question.

All this is good and great, (I remember saying) but I still don’t know how humanity came into existence. Like the first, primal, actual beginning.

And they all looked at me, a bit confused.

“You really don’t know?” the one with his elbow on the book said, “why don’t you just look into the blue book?”

And they all nodded, amused and in anticipation — look into the book — ath. (that sign is here because they referred to me with a really long name than ended with —ath )

And he moved the elbow of the cover. They all now had their hands off the table, it was all between me and the book. And the item frightened me. It looked like it had never been open, never touched even while it was made. It was never made — it simply existed because it could be imagined. I was looking at an idea of a book, not a book itself. I saw an item without a single flaw, of mathematical beauty that could never be material. It looked otherworldly because there wasn’t a single mistake in it. My own mind distrusted and felt disgusted because it was exposed to it. But at the same time I felt the sublime terror of seeing something perfectly beautiful, my eyes resting from looking at ugliness for the first time since they opened. The book was small, thin and blue. With white paper in between.

The blue book, I thought.

And someone lifted it, and it was still perfect, and while the hand was touching it, the hand was perfect. Small golden ladybugs appeared on the surface, two in number, made of gold and nothing else, took a short stroll on the cover while it was being passed to me. Then they sank back into the book.

I know that the moment I opened the book the perfection of the experience and the sound of the paper knocked me out like it was too much for me to handle. And instead of reading the answer to my question in the book, I stepped into the scene.

I knew that that wasn’t the real beginning or the end of the story. After all, when I came round to my senses again, I caught the story narration mid-sentence.

What surprised me the most was the silence. It was an absence of an air saturated with life that spoke of a primordial state — there wasn’t much noise, there weren’t many smells because there weren’t that many things yet. Still, everything buzzed with a kind of will that’s usually present at the beginning of an adventure. I was close to a wood hut of a sort and a small number of monkey-like creatures were pacing around it. They were shorter and hairier, but they looked a lot like modern humans when you had a closer look. The thing that characterized them the most was a perpetual look of miserable confusion. They didn’t know what to do with themselves. One had a primitive bat-like piece of wood in his hand. And then I heard the narration.

“so to create what is human, the animal-like homo erectus had to be mixed with something much higher, something much more divine. The result had to be a perfect mixture of both.”

And as that was said, something started materializing in mid-air — it wasn’t light, nothing visible, but a type of coagulation of energy. And out of that, a woman was formed. She was at least eight foot tall. She had thick brown curls and large violet-blue eyes.

“When the divine was materialized, the search for the appropriate genetics could begin.” The woman instantly inspired adoration and fear in the hominids and she ordered them to work, instantly. Their job was to find a man, somewhere, who was of their origin and breed, but had achieved self-awareness on his own. I saw a clear image of him in her thoughts — she was positive that he existed and that she would discover him soon, even though it was clear that she was not told how to complete this mission. The goal after that was simple. Their union was to create genetic material strong enough to lift and reform the existing humanoid race into something more, something we know today as human.

I pulled my head out of the book. My friends were still there. I understood why they wanted me to see it for myself instead of telling me. I saw the book was now closed and I decided to look at it again. Only this time, I had been dreaming for long enough for my inner lucid dreamer to start waking up and asking questions.

Wouldn’t it be even better if there were more golden things coming out of the nook? Do it! Open the book again and try to memorize a paragraph! Do it! Look at it again and try to see how the book is bound! Do it!

All these techniques have two possible outcomes — I normally either start controlling the dream or wake up. I tried to create a Golden Rose with thorns to come out of the book’s cover, but it felt so out of place and I still couldn’t see any writing or anything on it. The strain made me anxious and it ripped apart the dream. I woke up and could not retrieve the book in any dreams since, even though I tried visualizing it quite a few times before bed. This is where you come in.

Dear reader, I need you. Try and remember, remember well, whether you’ve dreamt the book. Read its description again and remember, remember what you can, and if so, get in touch.

I need the book, and if you can deliver it to me, we might go on an adventure. Who knows what lies and truth the blue book holds.