a little contradiction is delicious and healthy.

May 15, 2011

we are reading A Wrinkle in Time, by one of my favorite authors (I have gone far enough in my fandom for her to have read her essays on religion and her memoirs). it is the kids’ first time and we have to stop sometimes to talk about things. this book is a bouncy house for their minds… not that their minds needed a bouncy house to get jumping!

we get to this passage, the first time Meg, Calvin, and Charles are traveling by tesseract with Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which:

She was completely alone.

She had lost the protection of Calvin’s hand. Charles was nowhere, either to save or to turn to. She was alone in a fragment of nothingness. No light, no sound, no feeling. Where was her body? She tried to move in her panic, but there was nothing to move. Just as light and sound had vanished, she was gone, too. The corporeal Meg simply was not.

my oldest one sits bolt upright and says, “i don’t think the part of you that is not your body can ever be destroyed.”

i ask, “what part of you is not your body?”

“not your mind, exactly, but the part of you that goes on thinking even when you are asleep. and the part of you that was there in the Big Bang and before.” his eyes are shining. he swipes his hair away from his eyes. “the part of you that has been part of a lot of different things before.”

it is late now; we have been reading for a few hours (we have had to start with the little one’s books in case he falls asleep during A Wrinkle in Time!). i am internally hemming and hawing about whether to encourage this intense philosophical discourse or to hurry things along towards a pre-11 pm bedtime so i can make the blueberry crumble i want to prepare tonight for breakfast tomorrow.

it really isn’t much of a debate; he has never expressed anything like this before: my most recent blog post highlights all of his rational, atheist leanings and pronouncements. i am anticipating the taste of crow. i am determined to listen for however long he has feelings and thoughts to share, and to answer what questions he may have and to share my own experiences when appropriate.

he continues, “i think that when you die, that part of you can’t see or hear but it is there and it is part of everything. it goes with the worms and the fungi that use your body. it can go where they go and it can go everywhere you’ve gone.”

“or, i don’t know… maybe it can see and it can see other things left from other people and animals and plants and spend time with them. i’m not sure. but i just don’t think it can ever be destroyed.” he lays his head on me and sighs.

i am about to say something when he says, “i want you to keep reading. but i have a lot more to say. for later.”

“okay. i love you, and i want to hear what you’ve been thinking about and feeling if you want to share.”

we continue reading and then we get to another paragraph that prompts him to speak. it is after Meg, Charles, and Calvin have been carried on the back of the transformed Mrs. Whatsit (she is positively angelic, for those who don’t remember the book that way) to a garden where many of her kind are singing a song that Charles and Mrs. Whatsit attempt to translate. Meg’s reaction to hearing it follows:

Throughout her entire body Meg felt a pulse of joy such as she had never known before. Calvin’s hand reached out; he did not clasp her hand in his; he moved his fingers so that they were barely touching hers, but joy flowed through them, back and forth between them, around them and about them and inside them.

he interruped only to say, “that’s just how i feel right now. keep reading.”

i figure i don’t have to worry anymore about him not feeling a sense of wonder in this life he is living.

but within a few paragraphs he was asleep, and so was his little brother (who had been strangely silent throughout this whole affair, little noisy mouse that he usually is).

oddly enough, i have a vivid memory of being moved by this exact same paragraph, as well as the song before it, as a child reading the book to myself. i had felt the same thing Meg was feeling and recognizing it set off ripples inside me.

sharing that with my son… now that’s magic.

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