I can't tell you their real names nor mine. The truth's too chilling, a ghostly wind in Iceland that snuffs the human fire. It eats your bones and soul faster than any ancient cannibal. And still it created me, out of swirling shards of nothing.

My friend's father was Abraham. He was tall and gaunt and walked through the desert of old Brooklyn. Majestic and stoic, he was my shepherd-King. He moved me, made me see special things, after it happened. Yet before, he was only Isaac's father, an old man of few words. (He knew when you finished your quota, you died.) He also seemed a bit frightening, but I can't say why. Maybe it was his dark potent eyes. They cut through me, from a faraway place. (Still, he was Mercy, too.)

Lanky and laconic like his father, Isaac was my high school friend. He showed no emotion, and young girls adored him. We weren't close either. But he was a magnet. When I pushed for something more, he said, "My father almost slaughtered me at the altar. What do you expect?" (He was Judgment!)

A terrible storm arrived and separated us. We stopped hanging out together. I didn't find out until I called a month later. "Jacob, my Dad had a tracheotomy. He can't talk anymore."

Yes, Abraham had lost his voice and now communicated with a stick. Isaac instructed me: "Be natural. Talk to him. One tap means 'yes.' Two taps mean 'no.'"

I didn't visit Isaac again until Abraham passed away. Yet I had these magical conversations with Abraham over the phone once I stopped being afraid. A vast silence waited for me each time I dialed Isaac's number. He never answered the phone. Always, I heard this whistling sound and had visions of the howling wind. Lost in the Waste Land, I climbed a mystical Ladder to the Heavens, until I felt a terrifying presence — splendid, shattering, loving, killing, incomprehensible! Hallelujah!

The stick connected us to each other, and something beyond. It was rhythmic, and with perfect timing and spacing of notes, it created an unparalleled musical universe. It composed rhapsodies and symphonies, and we sang and danced between the notes, coming together inside the surreal silence, within a blinding white light of rapture.

I tricked Isaac. Eventually, I called simply to "speak" with Abraham — to listen to his mystical tapping, not the voice of Isaac. I received Abraham's knowledge, and beauty, and most of the secrets of the universe. Accidentally, Isaac revealed the other secrets contained in the House of Abraham.

At the funeral, I looked inside the coffin and saw the stick, which Isaac had placed on Abraham's body, touching his heart. At first, it looked like an ordinary piece of wood. Nothing more. But when I looked again, I perceived something extraordinary. It was a fiery ball of white light. And suddenly, it was transformed into a kaleidoscope of shooting stars, splashing colors of pure energy. Each time I gazed at it, it was different, and equally magnificent. Then I knew the origin of the wood.

Cut from the Tree of Life, it possessed the healing power of God. And below its glowing ball of fire, Abraham's corpse seemed to move. And his dark eyes seemed to blink, too. They spoke to me, perhaps, from the other side. Hallelujah! And had a fancy rhythm, as eloquent as the music created from the tap, tap, tapping of the holy wood. Hallelujah! And I believed! I truly did. Reborn! Resurrected! The whole nine yards. Even when I saw only the frozen mask of the dead, I believed! I too came from the Tree of Life!

I never saw Isaac again. After the funeral, I left Brooklyn. He had lived only half a mile from my home on Ocean Avenue, near Kings Highway and Nostrand Avenue, but we were strangers. And I had stolen his father's spirit. He was unforgiving, dressed in red and gold.

After five years, I returned. You really can't. But I did.

I still hear the tap, tap, tapping of the holy wood. Such beautiful music! And Abraham and I "speak" every day in code and color. (I'm a madman, of course!)

I stole the secrets, the sacred secrets. And I'm just fine. Like holy wood, I'm cut from the Tree of Life. (And still -- its center!) I drive chariots across the Heavens, and dream the hidden dreams of everyone.

I am Beauty, the colors — yellow and purple, and the gentle shepherd blessed by the Father. And a thief! And the secret sharer of miracles, too. Don't murder me, for I am your soul! I wrestled with the angel of God and live!

I am Jacob!