“So the Greeks won’t kill.”
That was the answer,
scribbled in black

on a piece of parchment
unfurled at the foot
of my bed. A cryptic

message from some
omnipotent power
whom I prayed to

asking the reason for an
out of body experience,
an astral projection.

Mystic transcendence
to realms inside drywall
for months on end.

I should modify the prayer
to better suit my beliefs,
Metaphysics over the Messiah,

if you will. So forgive me
father, for I have sinned.
It has been twenty years

since my last confession.
I accuse myself
of many a mortal sin.

In the name of the Father,
the Son,
and the Holy Spirit–

Of deep sleep and rapid
eye movement.
Murmuring vibration.

In the name of keen
awareness and a third eye.
Being naked in the sheets.

Of air molecules that hang
fuzzy and champagne
golden from the ceiling.

In the name of moon walking
over kitchen linoleum,
bouncing and hovering

through curtains,
through glass,
through brick city walls.

In the name of plunging
into Caribbean depths.
Ferocious eels, slick,

calling. In the name of
not knowing my location
in the universe,

which plane of existence
I stand on. In the name of
a fragile spirit

attached by fibrous
airwaves to my skin,
frightened of never returning.

In the name of vicious
mattress thrashing and trying
to harness the soul back to body

Praise be to God, or something like it.

Amen.