I Had Been To Narnia

I had been to Narnia, a place where beasts talk, trees dance, and fantasies are realities.  I had been to a place where what I hope to exist exists, and where I know my heart began to wake.

But isn’t Narnia only for dreamers, for people who want to escape reality and settle for the intangible instead?  What is about reality that’s scary so that people would choose to dwell in Narnia instead?  Is Narnia for cowards who fight fiercely but only against the wind?  Or is it for hopefuls who continue to strain their necks for the first ray of hope in the darkness?

I had been to Narnia, where angels and frogs mingle with each other as if longtime friends and lovers.  There were wars fought in the ancient Narnia, and they were battles that had always been won.  But Narnia is only a parallel world, a place where, once smashed by the searing heat of reality, evaporates like a mist.  Narnia, like any fantasy, ends.  And I go back to my own planet, the world of pollution, the world of solid people, the world where deadlines matter, and the world I know I had to be.

No one goes to Narnia by themselves.  They instead are called.  And I am in an aching agony, wondering, looking up into the sky, watching the moon, gazing at the stars and asking the ears that are supposed to hear: will I ever be called to Narnia again?