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Belmont, a washed up artist suffering from depression and alcoholism has an experience of being levitated in his bedroom apartment when he then psychically meets with his Deepest self, a mystical sea-horse shaped being–Ava–who is part of a collective of only 1000 “Original Beings.” After saving him from suicide…

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Belmont Surfield was never much of a good sleeper. Not only because he was and alcoholic, and suffered from depression, but because as a frustrated painter, and sometimes songwriter, he would stay up as late as he could, hopping to find some inspiration for his art.
The evening he just spent was not unusual. A bottle of vodka–always Stoli, a half a pack of cigarettes, a few corn chips and snacks, was all he consumed before finally giving up on the blank canvass in his living room apartment, the 18th floor of a decently modern high-rise in downtown Toronto.
He had been particularly suicidal for a week now. His wife of eight years, Lorraine, was away in Pennsylvania visiting her parents and he hated being alone. He always hid from her the amount of booze he consumed on a daily basis, but she knew he was a drunk–albeit a very functional one. He was good to her, and always made her a nice dinner, and treated her to foot massages. This made it easier for him to get away with “What I have to do for myself,” he would simply say, about his consumption. He loved her dearly though, and wished he could be a better man for her, and better artist for himself.
As he slept at last, he felt as if he were about to have a flying dream. He’d had them all the time when he was a kid, and less as an adult. Now, at 33 he was used to mostly not having them, as much as he enjoyed them. In his early twenties he was very interested in mysticism and meditation and such. He always wanted to just get out of his body, or his head anyway. His studies back then quickly proved to him about the “problem of mind.” And so he was disappointed to find that even when he achieved a rare state of bliss, or an out-of-body experience, his thinking troubled mind would always return. And so he would use soft drugs to feel some euphoria, or just drink to numb his emotional pain and help a little with his constant boredom.
He felt the pleasant sensation of kind of floating–quite intensely. He had had similar experiences before but this was of a very physical nature and not dreamlike. He was startled, but didn’t want move and wake up ruining the rare feeling of weightless he wanted to enjoy.
Suddenly he felt something lightly scrape the tip of his nose, and before he could stop himself from reacting he reached with his right hand to brush his face. But his arm hit something like a wall, and he instantly imagined in a fright that he might be in some kind of box or coffin!
He panicked, fearing he was about to have a full-blown nightmare. He forced himself to wake up, letting go of the desire to remain in the elevated state he otherwise would have sought to keep.
Belmont finally opened his eyes. All he could see was a white surface right in front of his face. He also noticed immediately that he still felt profoundly weightless. He thought he must still be dreaming so he raised both his hand to touch the wall in front of him. As he made contact with the wall he gently pushed himself away from it and felt his whole body move like a balloon away from it. He couldn’t tell where he was or if he was up or down, so he looked around moving his head from side to side.
He was surprised to see he was in his bedroom. But the wall in front of him was not a wall at all–it was the ceiling.
He face rose up again with his entire body horizontally as he contacted the stuccoed surface again.
He heard himself shout out in panic. He pushed himself harder away from the ceiling and started to use his legs, his knees scraping the ceiling too and then his feet. His body was not stiff, but he would only float gently back up as if he were in the space shuttle in zero gravity, like he’s seen on television.
“Jesus Christ!” he shouted now, truly afraid. The worst thing was the certain knowledge that he was not dreaming or imagining this, but that it was actually happening: He was levitating seven feet off his bed and floating in his room!
“Help!” he called out and his voice echoed peculiar in the room from shouting so close to the ceiling.
For a crazy second he recalled having to stand in the corner in Grade School at St. Francis, the nun’s favorite punishment. He would spend up to thirty minutes staring at the white wallpaper three inches from his face.
“Help! Help me! Jesus Christ!”
The unmistakeable sound of a comforting “voice.”
But from where?
From where?
From in his head!
“Fuuuck…” was all he could whisper.
The fact was though, that he felt…pretty good, really good—like a drug experience, like taking ecstasy with some mushrooms thrown in…
The voice said, “You should just R-E-L-A X…You are not dreaming, you are awake. You can hear me now because I am speaking telepathically in your brain. You have nothing to fear.”
Bel was suddenly—amazingly, as there was nothing rational about this even to say the least—becoming quite calm. There was no explanation except that whatever was happening to him now, was simply happening. And, he felt good! And he was floating still, light as a feather, suspended by almost nothing.
The “voice” continued, in his head, as if from outer space somewhere, far beyond his body—or mind.
“My name is Ava. I am you. I am you from ages and ages past. I will tell you know about our mutual history, and why, I, as the deepest being of yourself in this dimension, have had to intervene in your present life”
The voice was strong and resonant, but also profoundly calming, like a gentle god you never believed in.
There was no distrust at this point, and even no hesitation for Belmont to resist. All the terrible weirdness and the seemingly magical circumstances of this event were coming to rest in a freedom-space of open recognition, a safety that was unfounded, but obvious nevertheless. He had never known such strangeness like this, but somehow he was relieved of all of his trepidation, even while floating in the room like a balloon.
“Belmont, my child, close your eyes now and relax.”
He had only a moments hesitation and then he submitted—it was what he always wanted anyway. To relax. And fly.

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Joseph Berger

Toronto, canada

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