Tags

, , ,

The imagination is a wonderful thing. It’s also a terrifying thing, something that is not always tame, rather wild and apt to get out of hand if you allow it to control you rather than the other way around.

As a young girl I remember listening to the Chronicles of Narnia being read aloud to me from two volumes of royal blue leather bound books. The collection held my attention and begged my imagination to place myself within the pages. No wardrobe was safe from search, no train station left without a feeling of slight disappointment, no forrest glade looked into without hope.

I still hope. We have three wardrobes in our home, each are gotten into periodically in hope and gotten out of a bit crestfallen. I know that Narnia is the land created by C.S. Lewis and that the truly find myself in another country is probably not possible – but note that probably. I do so want there to be a caveat to that “not”.

A good story holds power. It paints pictures and fuels a well developed imagination. In my daughter it has created whole new story plots and twists that she acts out in great detail. She dresses the part, she changes her voice and accent, she packs a sack, grabs her bow and goes! Off into Narnia – farther up and further in!

You know it’s just pretend. You know it isn’t real. Yes, but…. BUT I can pretend. I can create and I play and I can let my imagination was over me filling my lungs with Narnian air and royal blood. I know the secrets of Narnia. I played with Mr. Tumnis as a child and entrust my girl to him now (“better him than Pan”, I think sometimes) and all the others that love Narnia. It’s good to go back, even now, and remember.