Levitation

ACT 1: The Call and the Collapse

A shift begins. He learns to breathe, float, and let go. It’s not escape; it’s elevation. The old self begins to peel away like hospital tape.

Levitating Lenny and the Circle of Whimsy

Hi there, I’m Lenny. Not Leonard, not Len, just Lenny. And no, I wasn’t floating when I was born (though Mom says I came out like a rocket). But one quiet night, when even the raccoons were asleep, I couldn’t fall asleep.

I lay there like a baked potato in a blanket, staring at the ceiling and wondering if stars ever got tired of twinkling. That’s when it happened. The wind blew weird. Real weird. Like it had secrets. Then—whoosh!—a swirl of clouds spun above my bed like pancake batter in the sky. And a voice whispered, “It’s time to rise.”

Now, folks, I ain’t one to argue with mysterious ceiling cloud vortices. I stood up—and promptly floated off the bed like a helium balloon with trust issues. I tried flapping my arms (because cartoons said it helped), but no need—I was light as marshmallow fluff.

Above me stretched nine glowy circles in the sky, stacked like donuts from a giant’s breakfast. As I floated through them, each circle made a sound: buzz! zap! hummmm! It tickled. I laughed. I may have tooted from excitement. I was soaring!

The voice kept saying, “The Circle speaks, don’t ask why.” I wanted to ask why. I always ask why. But I figured, hey, maybe this was one of those magical experiences that didn’t need explaining—like socks disappearing in the dryer.

Then I saw it: The Tree of Life. No lie—it was the size of a skyscraper and glowing like it ate Christmas. Wrapped around it was The Hoop, a golden ring swirling with rainbow light. The Tree and the Hoop bumped into each other—and boom!—a flash! I zapped right through and felt like a fizzy soda pop. Levitation achieved.

But of course, life’s not all soaring and sparkle-pops. Suddenly, thoughts of school, chores, and that time I dropped spaghetti in Aunt Margie’s purse hit me. I got distracted—and down I tumbled. SPLAT. Right into a bush. A prickly one.

But the voice returned: “Rise again.”

So I did. I practiced. I listened. I stopped worrying about socks and spaghetti. The more I trusted the Circle, the higher I floated. Until finally—I wasn’t just floating. I was flying. Not away from problems, but right into the middle of the biggest mystery I’d ever seen—and loving every second.

The Big Lesson:

Sometimes, to rise, you have to let go of the “why” and trust the sky.

And remember, kiddo: