"Presently I grew still, almost tranquil, and bit by bit a sense of calm spread through me, radiating out among my muscles and oozing toward the tips of my fingers and toes. There were no more thoughts in my head, no more feelings in my heart. I was weightless inside my own body, floating on a placid wave of nothingness, utterly detached and indifferent to the world around me. And that's when I did it for the first time - without warning, without the least notion that it was about to happen. Very slowly, I felt my body rise off the floor. The movement was so natural, so exquitite in its gentleness, it wasn't until I opened my eyes that I understood my limbs were touching only air. I was not far off the ground - no more than an inch or two - but I hung there without effort, suspended like the moon in the night sky, motionless and aloft, concious only of the air fluttering in and out of my lungs."

Paul Auster, Mr. Vertigo, Penguin Books, 1994.