STEPPING INTO NARNIA

When I was a child I didn’t dream of visiting Disneyland. Instead I wanted to go to the land beyond the wardrobe. I wanted to go to Narnia, where it was perfectly normal for animals to talk and there was a free flow of Turkish delight. My sister had bought us a complete set of The Chronicles of Narnia and at ten they were the best books ever!

So like Lucy Pevensie, I pushed the soft folds of the clothes in my mother’s wardrobe hoping that I could go deeper and deeper beyond the back of the wardrobe so that I would feel something soft and powdery and extremely cold beneath my feet. I was hoping that I would see the lamp post and that Mr. Tumnus the faun would be waiting for me.

 C. S. Lewis had captivated children of all ages with his Narnia tales which had sold 100 million copies worldwide. As a young boy, Lewis spent much holiday time in the Mournes and Rostrevor in particular. He is reported to have written a letter to his brother saying: “That part of Rostrevor which overlooks Carlingford Lough is my idea of Narnia”

And the wonder was still there when I followed the Narnia trail in Kilbroney Park in Rostrevor, County Down and entered the magical doorway. The door has become an icon in ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ which is the first book in the series,I saw the beaver’s house, the castle Cair Paravel, the dancing lawn, the four thrones and most of all the lion Aslan himself.

The image of the door captivates me.

Whether in ancient mythology or in dreams, the door symbolizes the transition and passageway from one place to another. It stands like a divide between belief and disbelief, between cowardice and valour, between betrayal and reconciliation and between life and death.

It is the process of transition that is the most difficult. We can come out of challenges remaining unchanged or we can experience significant character development. Lucy Pervensie in her simple trusting nature embraces a new life beyond the door but the other characters did not believe her initially.

The door is both full of potential and limiting because we do not know what lies beyond. We can open the door to new knowledge, to liberty and to change. We can open the door to a new self or we can choose not to open the door.

What is it that prevents us from opening the door?

Most times it is the ego. The ego that resists change. The ego that resists being taught. The ego that resists being humbled. The ego that struggles to say I am wrong and you are right. Or we can keep the door closed to harbour a secret. We feel safe behind a closed door because we are familiar with the same old, same old.

At the end of the first book, the Pevensies asked Professor Kirke how they could return to Narnia if they wanted to. His advice was, “Indeed, don’t try to get there at all. It’ll happen when you are not looking for it.”

There is wisdom in that. It takes time for someone to be ready to open the door to something totally different. And just when you are not trying so hard, all at once everything falls into place and the transition becomes effortless.

IF STONES COULD SPEAK

I am a collector of many things, big and small. One of them is stones - stones to remind me of the places that I had visited and stones to commemorate a significant event or memory.

I am intrigued by early civilisations and archaelogy. There is so much that is buried and yet to be discovered. There is so much that is standing and yet not understood. Huge megalithic standing stones that have withstood the passage of time are both magnificent and mysterious. But the silent and sombre sentinels of the past refuse to give up their secrets.

If only stones could speak.

Clochafarmore is a menhir (standing stone) and national monument in County Louth, Ireland. It is located 1.4 km east-northeast of Knockbridge, Dundalk on the left bank of the River Fane.The 3 metre high standing stone is believed to be from the Bronze Age.

When I first read about the stone I knew I had to see it, more so because it is traditionally associated with the death of legendary hero Cú chulainn. 

Unfortunately access to the stone wasn’t easy. Google map clearly indicated that we had reached the standing stone but it was no where to be seen. I asked a youngish lady nearby but she shrugged her shoulders and said she never heard of it. So we pulled up at a local grocery store and I saw an elderly Irish man whom I was sure would know its exact location. Knowledge comes with age I hoped. He was sitting on a kerb outside the store. I sat down on the kerb next to him and showed him the image on my phone and he was all excited to tell me that he knew the exact location.

‘It is opposite the priest’s house,’ he said assuming everyone knew where the priest lived.

‘Is there a sign showing that it is the priest’s house?’ I asked.

‘No, no, no…I think I had better ask that man over there to show you’ he said as another man in his forties came closer. It wasn’t everyday that a stranger of Asian origin would sit down with a local on a kerb outside the grocery store.

Immediately the younger man said, follow my white car. I’ll take you there.

I was extremely thankful. This is exactly what village friendliness and helpfulness is all about.

When we reached the site there was a brown sign shrouded among leaves pointing to the location. How could anyone in a moving car see the sign with all those leaves? It was no wonder that I missed it.

He lamented that more attention should be given to such a fine relic. A disused space nearby could be turned into a parking lot. School children could come in droves on organised trips to see what’s left of an epic hero for one euro each, he said. If only.

We had to cross a main road where cars were flying and then climb over a low fence into a potato field. And there it was, standing right before our eyes .

Someone had made a path to the stone and covered the path with fresh straw. I touched the stone and closed my eyes. In that moment, I felt a sense of awe as I saw Cú Chulainn mustering his final bit of strength to fight his enemies. He was hit by a magical spear, mortally wounding him and he tied himself to a standing stone — traditionally the "Stone of the Big Man", which had been erected to mark the grave of a past great warrior - so he could face his enemies standing up. I could see the enemies closing in, nearer and nearer with a loud war cry chant. It was only when a raven (the bird of death) landed on his shoulder that his enemies believed he was dead.

The region is known as An Breisleach Mór, “The Great Carnage", while the field in which this stone stands is called the Field of Slaughter. In the 1920s a bronze spearhead was found in the field, perhaps showing it to be a genuine ancient battle-site.

As I said goodbye to the silent stone, I felt as if I had shared a personal moment with a hero from civilisations past.

We all need our champions, the bigger than life personalities that we can look up to. We see everyday heroes who dedicate their lives to improve the lives of others.Heroes also undergo life transformations and we see them as powerful and yet vulnerable like ourselves. Their stories comfort us and are a salve to our wounds. Re-telling of stories from one generation to another cements social bonds.

And we then tell ourselves if they can achieve what they purpose to do, so can we.