Astral Projection Poem by Paula Kneeland

In dreamlike states I am my other self. Called
to astral planes beyond mortal comprehension. Consciousness
alone survives
here. A body, non-corporeal without visceral umbilical connection. Among
dilapidated facades hosting gay parties; Ball gowns and ushers flirting
at every turn. Golden handrails wind up broad staircases heavily laden
with spun-glass like cobwebs. Traversing
upward their lacey relics catch at my fingertips. Worn,
rust colored carpets grow threadbare with each rise. Spirit
felt floating, the gala left far behind.

A systemic warning is felt and dismissed.

"Turn back."
Ethereal.
Recalcitrant.
I move on.

Warning is given with greater sensation as a flush of unease washes through me.

"Turn. Back."

Far down the dimly lighted hall rests a long closed door. Undaunted
Ghost-like my hand defies these warnings counsel reaching
for the knob alighting a small room surrounded by peeling institutional paint. A metal bunkbed quartered upon one wall, barren of all but a thin black mattress and militant woolen blanket.

Hints of things unseen. A touch within my minds' eye. Flashing
instantaneous as the warning comes for me, conducting me
by my arms and returning my dreamy spirit to the stairs crest.

I dare not look back.

Fear now barres me from curiosities. I descend,
leaving mystery behind. Waking
to an earthly world.