Monday, September 22, 2008
The Womb Chair
So, I witnessed what Katy did, and I also know what she did next because I was there.I was on that island when the Robinson family got shipwrecked and I watched from up a tree as those children in the New Forest struggled to remain hidden.
I watched in wonder as the secret garden was revealed, shared tears with the little women, followed Heidi up a mountain with that grumpy son of a bitch and helped Charlotte the spider with her innovative web design.
All this and more I saw from my reading chair, curled in comfort, except when they let out the Baskerville hounds and then I was most definitely under it and I was probably behind it when Shere Khan was on the prowl. But safe. In my chair, but not in this world, sampling the thoughts, ideas and experiences of some great writers even before I was ten.
I exposed myself to magick, ghosts and rotten real life people. I learned about love, hate, integrity, cheating, killing pigs, survival and the trick of finding doors at the back of ancient wardrobes. From this protective womb chair I learned about heartbreak before I had tasted my own and enhanced the morals that my parents had gifted to me. Can there be anything more powerful to help a child over the threshold to adulthood?
I return to my womb chair almost daily. Many books still deliver a lasting education and a lingering need to escape the world, feeding an imagination that still believes that I was once Anne of Green Gables.