Levitation in the Religious Practice of Levitical Priests and Priestesses

Journal entry, delivered by the executor to dad’s estate

On 20 November 1983, on the roof of Hughes Hall, on the campus of The American University in Washington, DC, a young woman levitated off the ground, right in front of me, and hovered a few feet in the air for about 90 seconds. I promised not to recount this event and haven’t until now.

I had seen her around campus. We had never spoken but we caught each other’s eyes. One morning, I was eating breakfast in the student dining room when, without stopping or looking at me, she dropped a note onto my tray. “Call me” it said, along with a phone number.

Two days later, I followed her up a stairway in Hughes Hall and onto the roof. We sat on a low wall surrounding ventilation equipment and the conversation proceeded roughly as follows.

“You’re anxious,” she started. “What are you anxious about?”

“I have an outdoor film shoot this weekend, in a cemetery, and I’m afraid it’ll rain.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t.”

“You can predict the weather?”

“I know some things for sure,” she said. “I’m not bound by traditional modes of knowledge.”

That seemed an odd thing to say, although my university experience with women included strange encounters, not dissimilar to this one. They’d ask to meet, we’d sit and talk, end up kissing and sometimes having sex. I was becoming accustomed to the ritual. The conversations and the sex ranged from profound to absurd, with the occasional synthesis.

“Ask me a question, something only you would know.”

My mother’s maiden name?

“Levine,” she answered, correctly, which was rather jolting.

My immediate hypothesis: she was a friend of the family who also attended American U.

Her mother’s maiden name?

“Levitsky.” Correct again.

I tried remembering one of my reality-check methods, when she announced with some formality, “I am blessed and cursed with near-perfect knowledge.”

“You must get good grades.”

“Perfection draws attention. I’ve learned to make mistakes.”

She was perfectly serious.

I asked if she had other special powers I should know about.

“I’m told I’m great in bed,” she said with a grin. 

“Also, I can levitate. I can float up into the air.”

“Sex and levitation?” I mused.

Then she asked, “What if I levitated here in front of you? How would that affect you? Would it change anything for you? Would it matter?”

“I think it would change my life.”

“How?”

I felt compelled to answer thoughtfully and specifically.

“Gravity is so fundamental, built into our minds and bodies, our instincts and intuitions. If you can defy gravity, something is deeply flawed in my understanding of the universe. I would have to rethink my assumptions. And I would probably dedicate a good portion of my life to figuring out what the hell was going on.”

“If I levitate here in front of you, will you promise not to tell anyone?”

“That would be a very hard promise to keep. I mean, really.”

“Promise me.”

“And if I do promise?”

“Promise me.”

“Ok.”

“Ok, what?”

“Ok, I promise.”

She leaned toward me and kissed my cheek. She stood, took a few steps away then turned to face me. While staring into my eyes, she slowly rose off the roof, stopping about three feet high. Her arms were by her sides, with her palms toward me, and her toes pointed slightly downward.

“Jesus,” was all I managed.

“Come here,” she said, still holding my astonished gaze.

I stood and walked over to her, my face level with her waist.

“Now,” she said, “investigate.”

“Can I touch you?”

“Please do,” she smiled.

I placed my hands on her hips, pulled gently and her body moved toward me. I pulled downward and her body moved toward the ground, stopping when I stopped applying force. I turned her body and she rotated in space.

“Be sure to satisfy yourself,” she said.

I swept my arms and hands all around her body, checking for anything. I did not know what to check for.

“Maybe I’m dreaming,” I said.

“Should I slap you hard across the face?”

“No, thanks.”

“Then you’re awake?”

“How are you doing this?” I asked.

She lowered to the ground, walked back to the wall and sat. From her bag she removed a drawstring pouch and from the pouch a metal ladle, perhaps bronze or brass, about five inches long. She handled it carefully, reverently. She removed a small metal flask from her bag and poured a gold liquid into the ladle. She stirred the contents with a finger, then licked her finger and handed me the ladle.

“Careful,” she said. “Drink it all in one swallow.”

I said nothing. I didn’t ask what it was or what would happen. I took the ladle and drank. Almost immediately, I felt an odd, swelling sensation in my belly. Then my body left the ground. I panicked, flailing my arms about, and dropped back down, almost falling over. She laughed softly.

“Holy fuck,” I said, breathing heavily.

“It takes practice,” she said. “Imagine, though. If we can levitate, what else can we do? What can’t we do?” 

She said she had to go and told me to wait several minutes before leaving the roof. Then she left.

I never saw her again after that night. And I had no idea how to find her – I cannot remember her name. I wanted to be released from my promise. Now, as I approach the end of my life, I am breaking that promise with this account, and I feel guilty. Moreso, because you may not believe me. I will simply offer this: I love you, and with this love I swear to the truthfulness of this episode from my youth, from before you were born, and before life became very busy and practical and rational.

Perhaps you will have greater forbearance and perseverance than I to pursue life’s mysteries with the time you have. Perhaps you might pick up where I left off.