Orual's Struggle

"We now went for a long time over grass, gently but steadily upward, making for a ridge so high and so near that the true Mountain was quite out of sight. When we stopped it, and stood for a while to let the horse breathe, everything was changed. And my struggle began.

We had come into the sunlight now, too bright to look into, and warm (I threw back my cloak.) Heavy dew made the grass jewel-bright. The Mountain, far greater yet also far further off than I expected, seem with the sun hanging a hand-breadth above its topmost crags, did not look like a solid thing. Between us and it was a vast tumble of valley and hill, woods and cliffs, and more little lakes than I could count. to left and right and behind us, the whole coloured world with all its hills was heaped up and up to the sky, with, far away, a gleam of what we call the sea (though it is not to be compared with the Great Sea of the Greeks.) There was a lark singing; but for that, huge and ancient stillness.

And my struggle was this. You may well believe that I had set out sad enough; I came on a sad errand. Now, flung at me like frolic or insolence, there came as if it were a voice-no words- but if you made it into words it would be, "Why should your heart not dance?" It's the measure of my folly that my heart almost answered, "Why not?" I had to tell myself over like a lesson the infinite reasons it had not to dance. My heart to dane? Mine whose love was taken from me, I, the ugly princess who must never look for other love, the drudge of the King, the jailer of hateful Redival, perhaps to be murdered or turned out as a beggar when my father died-for who knew what Glome would do then? And yet, it was a lesson I could hardly keep in my mind. The sight of the huge world put mad ideas into me, as if I would wander away, wander forever, see strange and beautiful things, one after the other to the world's end. The freshness and wetness all about me (I had seen nothing but drought and withered things for many months before my sickness) made me feel that I had misjudged the world; it seemed kind, and laughing, as if its heart also danced. Even my ugliness I could not quite believe in. Who can feel ugly when the heart meets delight? It is as if, somewhere inside, within the hideous face and bony limbs, one is soft, fresh, lissom and desirable. "

Orual seems to me like many adults I know. We go somberly about our responsibilities and place too much of our happiness on the sum of our experiences. I am no exception. When faced with something greater and more wondrous than my present my heart cries out, "Why should your heart not dance?" Instead of joining in, like Orual I have tendency to remind myself of all the reasons why I shouldn't. Past experiences aside, I am not a child anymore, so why should I behave like one? The world is no place for people with child-like hearts. But that's just it... isn't it those who have the awe of a child whose hearts dance? They are able to recognize beauty and glory.  As Orual puts it, "Who can feel ugly when the heart meets delight?" They meet delight and are transformed by it. This is what I crave... for the renewed joy and delight of a child in my heart. The ability to look past all the reasons I should consider that sort of dancing folly, and instead delight in what is greater and more awesome. I am craving to give my heart permission to dance.