The Narnia books may have saved my soul, whatever that means. My childhood was spent in a pretty nasty situation. Had I formed just on the basis of the environment that I found myself in, things might have got pretty bad. When I was nine I read “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe”, and my heart moved to Narnia. I read and re-read the books, and in “The Voyage of the Dawn Treader” I saw my way home. Just to feel the wind blowing from Aslan’s country and to breathe the living air of Narnia.
When I was a kid I didn’t think about Aslan as Christ, about the End Times, about the Garden. It all just was, in and of itself, and I knew it to be true.
Not long ago I was talking with my good friend Joanne, moaning and groaning a little, as she kindly lets me do, and wishing that I could just wake up and find myself on the Dawn Treader. “But you already are,” she said.
More and more I dream of the sea, being in it. by it, flying (I fly in my dreams) over it. There’s always, in the dreams, a wild hope and a terror. Hope that I will just leave shore forever. And terror that I might.
Or is it that I already have?