This is a story of a single 24-hour day in 1941 - I was 7.At quiet times, do you ever sit alone by a window-somewhat lonely, but comfortable? Do you ever then deliberately give your mind permission to go where it will? Your consent to follow any path, real, imagined or remembered? Your eyes shift to look out on a vista that is yours alone. You may find yourself in a vast chamber, lined with closed doors beyond counting. Each is a choice, leading to a time and a place. Some are pleasant to revisit, like hearing an old ...
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This is a story of a single 24-hour day in 1941 - I was 7.At quiet times, do you ever sit alone by a window-somewhat lonely, but comfortable? Do you ever then deliberately give your mind permission to go where it will? Your consent to follow any path, real, imagined or remembered? Your eyes shift to look out on a vista that is yours alone. You may find yourself in a vast chamber, lined with closed doors beyond counting. Each is a choice, leading to a time and a place. Some are pleasant to revisit, like hearing an old favorite song. Others may be long forgotten, but a welcome surprise. Other portals flicker past like pages fluttering in a random breeze.Do you ever puzzle over your mind's choice of these many doors? Are you doing the choosing, or is someone else there?Stay quiet, look down, a small child is there holding your hand, guiding you. When at last your eyes meet, you recognize yourself. This is not the child that was, but is no longer. No, the child whose eyes look back at you is the child that lives in you here and now. This is the person who remembers and knows all that you know. This child is the keeper of the keys to every door in that vast chamber.If life and living have caused you to lose touch with the child that lives within, read on and discover who is holding your hand.
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