I saw an angel once. Like an answer to a thousand prayers. But not aflame in a Lambeth tree as Blake saw.
No, I glimpsed this angel on one of the worst
days of my life. I was surrounded by a
circle of wraiths. Darkness and filth. They were ravenous. They had made a living sacrificial altar of
me. An inverted sun like a wound in the
firmament. I bled profusely.
Spiritually, psychically. At the mercy of
their whispering laughter. The hideous laughter
of things that had lost all connection to Light. The innermost that should guide each sentient
being was gone. Not a glimmer of it
remained within them. These wraiths. These vile, sorcerous cowards. But behind them the angel stood, half-hidden
in shadow. They didn't even know it was
there. It had cloaked itself from them,
but not entirely from me. It knew I
could see things and it wanted me to sense its presence. The scent of flowers and freshwater.
The sweetness of honeysuckle, a touch of lilac.
Then the familiar, calming drift of my beloved roses. Those wraiths wanted me broken, you see. Defiled. They thought the imagined altar of my flesh was
theirs alone. A ring of ruptured psyche,
conjured and held in place by their malefic intent. But the angel was there too. Hidden just beyond the circle. It turned, and looked right at me. I had never felt anything so beautiful. Warmth, peace and vitality began flowing through
me. A healing energy. The angel slowly raised its right hand, palm
open in sweet regard. And I was granted
the mercy I had long prayed for. Though
half-hidden, I saw its incredible wings unfurl.
Each feather forged of image, poem and song; some of my own among them. Utterly humbled, I simply gazed at those dreamed
promises of ascension unfolded at its back. Then, like a pulse that shook perception
itself, the angel took flight and was gone. The wraiths were cast out in that very instant.
The ring of filth broken. I just lay there in stunned silence, the night
spread all about me. I could still smell
the faint scent of roses in the air. I
could feel the angel's healing touch restoring both my mind and my flesh. I laughed in awe, at the explicit wonder of
it. Despite my abilities I had never
been visited quite so directly before by a thing of winged dreaming. Sometimes I still wonder if those malevolent wraiths
intended to kill me that night. To
finally finish what they began so long ago. Never had they gathered in such numbers or
with such sinister gravity. Perhaps I
wouldn't be here right now if not for that quiet look and raised palm, that
lingering scent of freshwater and flowers. I thank you, friend. With all my heart. For the intervention, your protection, and the
gracious gift that is kindled within me still.
I believe this gift isn’t mine alone. It is to be shared, through image, poem and
song. For those gentle souls who find
themselves tormented by these sorcerous wraiths, as I was. The broken and almost broken, currently
shipwrecked at the edge of everything. Hear
me. You’re not alone in the dark with
those things, I swear it. You might not
possess the inner vision of a seer, but I promise you the Bright Ones are very
real. And incredibly powerful. Thoughtful
guardians of such nuance and empathy. They
are in the darkness with you, my friends.
Just beyond the sight of your demons. These angels are lighting your way, gifting
you with the strength to keep going. The
strength to learn, laugh, and perhaps fall in love. Each moment of inspiration, every courageous
act – they stand with all of us, often unnoticed. Hands raised, palms open in devotion and sweet
regard. Did you know?
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