Wardrobes, Wonder and Lamps
Every time I see the lamp post in our neighbor's yard, I think of "The Lion, Witch and The Wardrobe" by C.S. Lewis.
Almost small beside a huge blue gray spruce tree, the light stays on night and day. Every morning, the spruce, untended yard and the chaotic twittering birds take my wistful self almost elsewhere. I recall that dark, wide wardrobe door, and want to step up into the coat-filled darkness. To feel my way through wool and fur. I'll stumble out almost stupidly blinking into the winter light and on snowy ground. And there will be the lamp post shining among the trees, leading me to a uprising.
I miss that little girl. Where is the wonder I once felt?
Reading has become a distraction, not a wondrous plunge. My feet stay ground bound, despite the space opera paperback in my hands. Grief, cynicism, pain and "reality" have devoured my joy. I don't embed myself in books anymore, maybe because I've never forgotten my aching grief when I realized Narnia could never be real.
Since that 5th grade pain, I've grown up (whatever that means). Immersed in work, bills, kids, my relationships. Playing and writing songs can bring me that loving joy, especially when I am sharing music with friends.
A friend of mine gave into my mild begging and brought me along to see Neil Gaiman speak here in Cincinnati. Neil spoke of wonder, stories, reading, children and of libraries. He took us into his world, coaxing every listener to wander with him for a while. I happily put aside my own inner thoughts, eagerly leaning forward in my theater seat to let him lead..An anomaly for anyone who knows me.
Maybe wonderment isn't that far away, after all.