Brief moments of intimacy occur all around us. Once, while reading a very old philosophy book that he had checked out of the library, my best friend found a postcard tucked between the pages. He sent it to me. The mildewed picture--which probably dated back to at least 1940--showed a dark stairwell leading to a small, glowing light. "Anna," the cursive handwriting read on the opposite side, "I'm sorry about what happened. I feel horribly sad. I'll be back in a few months." For some intriguing yet unexplained reason, the man who'd written the postcard had... More >>>