Dreaming of an Angel

Last night an angel came to my side. At first I was only aware of a brilliant clear light which seemed to fill the space around me, and with the light came calm, and a sense of trust that all would be well. Then it seemed to me as if the light, although still bright, grew softer, and in this velvet softness a form took shape. The form looked at me with eyes of love, and I understood that she wished me to come with her. Whether she truly spoke to me, or whether I felt her thoughts enter my own I cannot say, but I knew that she had been waiting for the moment when I would open my eyes, see her, and follow her. 

So I was dreaming that I had awakened, and despite the feeling of trust I found myself feeling a little uneasy in this strange waking/dreaming state. Still I followed where the angel led me. I half-walked, half-drifted through fields and along pathways where perhaps I had been before, but had since long forgotten: the half-remembered landscapes of dreams. But because of my lingering unease my own movements were not as fluid as those of my companion of light. Perhaps it was this hesitation which the angel felt, for she urged me to awaken more fully, that although I thought that I was fully awake, my hesitant manner betrayed the fact that I still had a further stage to go.

And so I trusted more, let go more, and realised that my hesitation, and the fear which caused it, was groundless. When I dared to truly look around me a new world was revealed: an intense world full of light and colour, and my feet finally felt firm ground. I no longer needed to half-drift in this world. I could leave my footprints firmly in this place, knowing that it was where I now truly belonged. Knowing that it was a part of me, and that I could freely claim my place there, and that the intensity of all which I saw there was how things truly are, always, as long as I felt total trust.

The angel now took my hand in her own and led me even farther. With all fear gone, and with my presence in that place now fully experienced and accepted, my body became feather-light. I no longer needed to leave my footprints there to know that I was a part of this place. Now I seemed to glide through this new land without effort. But there was one more stage to go through, one more awakening for me to experience. And that was my awakening into my own everyday world. When touched by morning light once more, my dream of the angel stayed with me, filling me with a deep sense of peace and solace. No longer was I dreaming for I woke up - awakened.

Guiding Angel - Tiffany Glass & Decorating Company, circa 1890

The Angel

Those below 
do not realise that when they breath

when they utter even the softest of whispers

that I rise upon the thermals of their words,

that I climb ever upwards on their sentences,

let fall my pledges to the earth

and dance when they sigh.

Sometimes one who is more attentive

becomes aware of my passing;

a soft flow of air, the merest zephyr betrays me.

Sometimes as I rise I pass one at prayer, 

or in quiet meditation.

Briefly our paths cross:

fellow travellers in the same airy spaces.

But mostly those below remain unaware

when I plummet in a cascade of light.

Becoming, in the last shard of time, 

fluid as water 

and our beings merge.

Painting by William Baxter Closson

Angel

Angel

Oh, if only you knew how your face changes

when in the midst of our silent, pure uniting glance,

you lose yourself, turn inwards and move away from 

me !

Like a landscape, that just before was so clear

you become clouded, shutting me out.

Then I wait. I wait silently, often for a long time.

And were I someone such as you

then the pain of a love scorned would kill me.

But now…

now I have infinite patience from the Blessed.

So now, unperturbed, I wait for you,

whenever you might come.

And I take this soft reproach,

not as a reproach, but as absolution.

*

O wüßtest du, wie sehr dein Antlitz sich
Verändert, wenn du mitten in dem Blick,
Dem stillen reinen, der dich mir vereint,
Dich innerlich verlierst und von mir kehrst!
Wie eine Landschaft, die noch eben hell,
Bewölkt es sich und schließt mich von dir aus.
Dann warte ich. Dann warte schweigend ich
Oft lange. Und wär ich ein Mensch wie du,
Mich tötete verschmähter Liebe Pein.
So aber gab unendliche Geduld
Der Vater mir und unerschütterlich
Erwarte ich dich, wann du immer kommst.
Und diesen sanften Vorwurf selber nimm
Als Vorwurf nicht, als keusche Botschaft nur.

Christian Morgenstern

(1871 - 1914)

Painting: Odilon Redon

Perfectly Imperfect

Perfectly imperfect


No sound at all
it is darker here
and chill is holding me in its grasp
almost never to let go of me.

Where am I?
And where is that place
where I once was
somewhere between then and now?
How will I know?

I am frightened
I did not know that I could feel this way,
but when I see now
how my wings are broken... 

Was I not perfect then
in my eternal longing
to become
what I perhaps can never be?

Utter loneliness is overtaking me
still no sound is heard
only my heart beating.

I feel my spirit leaving me
that immaculate reflection of you,
while whispering my sacred vow.

My form is dissolving
in this dark sanctuary around me,
but then I can hear your voice - at last...


"Even angels have to run their course,
for sacredness is in your wings
but your essential flight
is the solitary one."