Into a Story

Into a Story (Written February 21, 2013)

The words upon the page awake,
Arise and seize my mind,
Out on a journey grand we take,
For adventures yet to find.

Characters that aren’t alive,
Lands that don’t exist,
To consume my ever wheeling mind:
An end I can’t resist.

What greater joy could there be found
Than to find a world outside your own
Away from mundane, unchained, unbound,
Yet always ready to step back home.

I live my life, I breath, I die,
To reach that world we touch,
To say I’m fine would be a lie,
For I long for it very much.

Authors opened a window for me
Through a wall I couldn’t breach,
And through that window I could see
A world I could not reach.

And so I spend my yet brief days
To make that window wider yet,
And hope that in the growing haze
Its glory we won’t forget.

___

I love reading a book so good that it blows my mind, leaving me reeling at how amazing it was. I don’t know which is a more incredible form of mind blowing, that of not reading another story because you want nothing else to defile your blown mind, or that of wanting to continuing reading forever for fear of not being able to keep your feeble mind from being defiled. I can’t help but feel empty when I realize I have finished a good book. I want, more than anything, to make sure that everybody I encounter, even if I only meet them once, will see that stories are a treasure more precious than all of the advances man has made in electronics. Stories are a window through a wall. I say that a lot, as you may notice, but I really think it is true. We live in reality. No denying it, no running from it. We don’t live in Narnia, or Hogwarts, or Neverland, or Middle Earth- we live here, in our lives that we were born into. We can change a lot of things, but we can’t change the fact that we don’t live in the fairy-tales we read. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t real, and it doesn’t mean they aren’t important. If we stop read fairy-tales, if we stop wishing that one day we could get our letter from Hogwarts or a nighttime visit from Peter Pan, then who knows where we will end up. No, those stories aren’t why we live- there are much more important reasons for being made. But if we try and force ourselves into a life where the reality around us- a reality where you can doubt even the best of people on a penny’s drop- is all that we have to look forward to before bed, then we have lost a gift that we ought to treasure. Stories are a window from reality to a world that is better and more worthy than our own, because it does not need to be restricted by the follies of man.

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