Once, across a crowded meeting room, I recognized a face. Our eyes locked. Weeks earlier, this person and I had attended the same retreat. We both knew we needed to steal away and talk, as soon as possible.

When the opportunity came, each of us took it immediately. We found a quiet place. We talked as though we’d known each other for years. “I had to speak to you,” said my new old friend. “I feel as though we met in Narnia, and back here in the regular world I have to touch you to know it was real.” I understood instantly.  

OXFORD, ENGLAND - In a wooded suburb of this fabled university city, a battered typewriter sits on a desk beside a bay window that overlooks a tangled landscape of oaks and beeches. Nearby, ancient bookshelves guard a leather armchair surrounded by wall maps and pictures depicting a fantasy world.