Do You Feel Lucky?

(and feel free to comment! My older posts are certainly no less relevant to the burning concerns of the day.)

Wednesday, December 09, 2009

In Angel's Eyes, On Wings Of Wind, In Shadows Dark, They Gathered In

What do you think of the angels?

Angels are hostile to us. Don't believe the art and stories. Angels hate us. Even the angels loyal to God during the rebellion all hated, and continue to hate us.

God gives them that freedom. Angels have free will, same as we do. The angels left in heaven - they all dearly love God! But they hate us. That was the one thing that Lucifer and Michael always, always agreed on: humanity is repugnant.

Well, we are.

Our guardian angels are tasked with a duty that they find offensive and contemptible, but they perform it well, despite their distaste. They take pride in performing it well! Not because we matter. They take pride in their abject loyalty to God.

Down all the ages, angels have listened to the best music, choirs, orchestras that humanity has produced with the immaterial-being equivalent of nausea. The closest angels ever come to sympathizing with us is that shallow cringe of embarrassment they feel when listening to our most (to us) transcendent efforts - a close cousin to the vicarious cringe you get when watching an extremely poor quality television program, and even though there is no one in the room, for an instant you have an uneasy flash of how you'd feel if someone you respected saw you watching that. But there is no one in the room.

Oh yes there is.

To an angel, stepping into a crowded auditorium massed thick with expectant humans waiting for the curtain to rise - there is no one in the room. No one in the room but the angel. We are - what? Less than scenery. We are mildew, spoiling the scenery. Not a lower order of being, no. Something more like the protein scum churned up by waves, washed up on beaches. We amount to that: a foaming, dirty pile of bubbles, and we fizz and pop and dry out and diminish about as quick. Leaving only a whitish stain on the sand, an unclean patch where we lived and died.

Not that an angel would want to kill us. No, angels are by and large very relieved that the days when God would send them out after humans' heads are more or less over and done. Angels hated that duty. They were as enthusiastic about it as you would be, if tasked to rid a large garden of its slugs using only your bare hands. Everything an angel does is done with its bare hands - it manifests pure mind, pure will, pure spirit and when it takes on form, its sword might as well be its skin. In fact, the expression on an angel's face whenever a human is encountered is very similar to a human's expression, upon stepping on a slug.

How loathsome a scene was Eden, in the eyes of God's first beloveds.

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