Michael

I know the secret of our existence. Rather, our purpose or focus as human beings both in the physical and spiritual form. Surprisingly, it isn’t complicated, but as we all know, we tend to believe the more overcomplicated something seems that it must be the superior answer. After all, if it’s too easy then anyone can figure it out. Ah, we humans, what foolish creatures we are thinking that only the divine or master philosophers should have all the answers let alone access to the meaning of our souls. I am not either, yet I am both. As we all are should we decide to listen to the clues and watch for the signs. Sometimes these clues are subtle, some strung together in a series that we would observe as an interesting ‘coincidence’ and others that are obvious, words that say, ‘I am telling you something now, in plain language – pay attention’. That is how my clue came to me, in word. Nothing masked, no riddle, just one simple statement. The channel was through a well-known character, The Archangel Michael, the promoter of our spiritual virtues, protecting us from our own evils; the method was through dream.

“The dreams which reveal the supernatural are promises and messages that God sends us directly: they are nothing but his angels, his ministering spirits, who usually appear to us when we are in a great predicament.” – Paracelsus

My memory of this dream, although many years ago, is still vivid, I also know that I dream in colour. The setting was the city where I was born and lived for most of my adult life. This mega-metropolis had its fair share of social challenges that would sometimes surface in a negative manner but for the most part was a fairly tranquil environment. Public hostilities were more an exception than the rule. I never felt endangered in my everyday life or that society as a whole was in peril. In this dream setting, I was on a sidewalk of one of the major downtown streets. My subconscious found me standing cold, dirty and bewildered in a post-apocalyptic hell that was once my city. I was alone on the barren street that was once a bustling hub of daily activity. The streets were dusty, the sun obliterated by dark clouds. I was tired and scared. My instinct drove me to seek the things that will sustain life. I darted through the obstacle course of destruction that littered my path. Everywhere I went broken glass and abandoned cars. I knew that the streets were not safe. Out on my own, it was going to be survival of the fittest. My mind racing as quickly as my feet, I noticed a still-standing mannequin in the window of a now ‘bombed-out’ clothing store. It was wearing a hideous, striped, neon monstrosity called a sweater that would once be portrayed as ‘high fashion’. Something that I would otherwise walk past and shudder at its ugliness, I now looked upon as a necessity of life. I looked all around and seeing that the streets and store were clear, I stepped up in through the blown-out window. Just as I was removing the garment from the figure, three women entered, each carrying a weapon of sort, debris from machinery in the city.

“Put it down, that’s ours”, snarled the leader as the others looked me up and down. My body immediately tensed. In my sleep, the heat from my rushing blood caused me to kick off the sheets. I watched one of them slap a pipe in her palm as she stared at me. I was not going to win this one alone. I stood looking at them, my mind racing for an escape route. Flight was the best option. Then only as a dream or movie would have it, the ceiling appeared to open and Saint Michael, Archangel, descended upon us. He floated between us and unfurled a dual span of strong, white wings; wide enough to reach everyone, never touching anyone. The aggressors cursed and with horror in their eyes, leapt out of the window and ran, yelping into the street. Feeling returned to my body. Blood rushed into my fingers as my fists released. I felt my heart ease into a comfortable, melodic beat. I looked at this Angel, devoid of physical description yet a presence that filled the space. Peace and calm filled me. Then he spoke these audible words “Love is the only thing that matters”. And with that, he disappeared as quickly as he appeared. To that, I awoke.

That’s the secret. Love is the only thing that matters. We all know this secret. We’ve known it since birth. But as we go through life, trying to navigate through the layers of misguided ego, it sometimes seems that the world doesn’t believe in love. Wars, greed, anger, revenge, vanity and selfishness are common themes that seem to define who we are as a race. When will we collectively learn that this isn’t going to prolong our existence? As modern medicine develops to ensure a longer life, will we live it amongst hatred? Seems it’s a counter intuitive purpose. I am aware of my own relapse, complaining about things that really, just don’t matter, and have to remind myself of my importance here on earth. Love. Love my existence. Love my surroundings. Love how the birds bathe in a puddle after a rain. Love how the earth buds and sprouts after unforgiving winter months. Love that everyone I encounter will share some insight that will enrich my life. Love someone wholly and completely. Love someone unconditionally when their struggles manifest into anger. I’m not saying that you should accept anger. That’s theirs to own. But love them for who they are when they are buried under grief or fear. But most importantly, love yourself.

I am thankful for my encounter with my guardian angel. Regardless of dream or illusion, the message was delivered loud and clear. It is a constant reminder to focus on recognizing and sharing what’s important in my wakened life.

She’s ElleBent — making some sort of point.

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