The BRITISH LIBRARY, London
Upon publishing a book, by law one copy of every UK publication (including e-books) must be sent to the British Library within one month of publication. To preserve knowledge and information for future generations and 'maintain the national published archive of the British Isles'. The legal deposit has existed for nearly 400 years and collects publicly available work including, and not limited to: books; pamphlets, posters, leaflets and flyers; maps; sheet music and scores; journals, magazines and newspapers. And, since 2013, ‘Each year, the British Library UK Web Archive collects a ‘snapshot’ of all the UK websites that we can identify. This includes at least four million websites, with several billion files.’ That’s a lot of energy and collected intentions. Over 170 million items. All available, as resource, at the British Library - 96 Euston Road, London NW1 2DB.
As an author of two books - and not having set foot in our nation’s library before - I was keen to visit the institution I had excitedly and dutifully posted a copy of each my books to.
As I walked through the entrance doors, I immediately knew I had to do an energy report. An immediate expansion of heart energy settled me. If I were to choose a ‘chakra’ to describe the British Library, it would be the heart chakra … a powerful sense of the heartfelt love and dedication which has gone into the books and contents this building represents. It felt solid, grounded - surprisingly spacious, yet ‘bottom heavy’. A ‘sinking fund’ came to mind - of knowledge, but not without the challenges this brings. I later learned of the vast underground basements (4 in total - the deepest in the UK) housing and preserving the works and treasures - alongside items stored at the British Library site at Boston Spa in Yorkshire - and this made sense: the perception of a continually descending pit of energy maintained in the walls and fabric of what you see.
Formerly part of the British Museum, the British Library was created in 1973 and moved into the St Pancras building in 1997. Ten million red bricks were used in the construction of the building, though inside, there is a feeling of minimal lightness and vast ceilings, which somehow feels as grounded on the top floor as the ground floor. It doesn’t have an aged patina - more so an ‘invested’ one. Central within the building, in a floor to ceiling glass display, is the King's Library with 65,000 printed volumes along with other pamphlets, manuscripts and maps collected by King George III between 1763 and 1820 … a gilded column of history surrounded by people working on laptops. A colourful silence in the hubbub of no noise. Preferable to a Starbucks, for those in the know about the 150 open working spaces in the public areas.
It was the reading rooms I wanted to visit though, which require a free Reader Pass (bring appropriate ID if you are planning to visit). There are 11 reading rooms in total, including the smallest, the Maps Reading Room (the world’s largest map collection) and the popular ‘Humanities 1’. But before I could head up to the rooms, I had to drop my bag off in the locker room - an experience which only adds to the sense of anticipation. Pen replaced by pencil I was now ready.
Upon entering the rooms, I was struck by the energy. Each one is subtly different; the ‘Asian and African Studies’ has more energetic vibrancy and colour, the ‘Newsroom’ feels more chaotic, for instance. Yet all are uniform, within the same spacial abundance. An ecclesiastical feel, almost. Amongst the quiet hum of the A/C and the rumble of underground trains, there is an awareness of the surrounding city: the wood of the furnishings acting as buffer and connection to the outside world. I was struck by the noticeable quality of workmanship and materials - light wood desks and bookcases, extremely comfortable chairs, beautiful door handles, individual lighting and sockets at each of the 1277 reading room desks. There is an elegance and equality to the provision of reading opportunity - each person has their own ‘station’, of equal worth, to dip into the annals of time where minds can meet across invisible borders into works written and recorded by those who went before, or remain alongside, us. A vast crypt to drink from, to create new contributions from, where in this environment no one book is more valuable than another. There is a sense of presence - of a vacuum and timelessness - and immediacy as heads lower over the pages into the portal of knowledge. With barely any books on display, I sense the connection between person and resource as primary. Noticing my train of thought, my guide channels a message to me: ‘to gather oneself here is to present at the font of time, for knowledge is timeless but the acquiring of it can only happen with the sacredness of text - with experience, presence and engagement of life.’ Tuning in further, I sense more of an ‘akashic records’ energy than a spirit-of-place one. A central well, rather than a guarded space. Which is perhaps reflected in the ransom cyber-attack the British Library suffered in October 2023 (until January 2024 when the main catalogue returned online) - and which it is still recovering from (at a cost of 40% of its financial reserves / £6-7m according to Wikipedia).
The building feels protected and exposed all at the same time. By the nature of accumulated and accumulating knowledge it has to stay ‘open’ while also transcending time. ‘For eternity’ is a tricky stance to handle and with this thought my heart suddenly tightens as I pick up a real sense of fear and constriction in the common areas of the building, as I walk through the marble … a fear of ‘losing the knowledge’ … and I feel a wave of compassion for the custodians of this vast and enormous treasure. It feels like it - and all the people within its operation - need to breathe a little. I saw a tiredness in some of the staff, juxtaposed by people using the space to work from. An institution trying to move with the times, but anchored in the past as it holds the vibration of all (UK) books ever written.
As I left the building, the energy outside felt much freer and lighter. Tuning in to the land beyond the building itself, I could feel the imprint of the once ‘green lands’ underneath … pastureland and the presence of cattle or animals of some sort. Closer to date, I could feel something around ‘petrol’ - that the land had been used for storage of petrol-related items (which seemed ironic, as an imprint for a library). Upon checking, I note record of the site being used as a goods yard, but the imprint of flammable equipment remains strong.
The British Library is a sanctuary. For us, and also for our sacred text, knowledge and culture. It is also, to some extent, ‘forgotten’ yet increasingly needed in this modern world of screens. There, but not there. As a building, it is physically protected, but it is not as energetically boundaried as it could be. And I can understand why. Because ‘the words’ create the energy and intention (of the institution), and not, as with most organisations, the energy creating the words (or product/service). There is an intention to preserve, and so, the energy of ‘the preservation’ echoes within the building - as well as the energy of the words it holds. And so, a gap emerges between the two … comprised of the people who visit. Hence my sense of a ‘portal of knowledge’. The required energetic boundary is of the portal, the place and its contents … and also the unseen knowledge.
It is the kind of church I wish to visit - and certainly worth a visit if you haven’t been. And send it a little loving protection if so inclined. I think it will appreciate it :)
Love,
Delilah
Visited: 20.09.24