winter, star

I stood in the back corner watching them. They resembled three veterans who had met once more on a cold day after years of separation, and had lit a fire to warm themselves. I had pricked up my ears to overhear what they said, but none of them opened his mouth. You felt the air between them was vibrating and that a string of unspoken words was being unwound from mouth to mouth. Without the slightest doubt, this was how the angels spoke in heaven. How long did their silence last -- how many hours? It seemed to me time had come to a standstill, that one hour and one century were of the same length.

Make yourself familiar with the angels, and behold them frequently in spirit, for without being seen, they are present with you.

There is a medieval belief that angels want to sing to us. It makes them happy to do so. All we have to do is listen.

No one on earth could feel like this,
I'm thrown and overblown with bliss
There must be an angel
Playing with my heart.

Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.

Know there are those who harken when we pray,
And succour from the realms of Light will send.
Ever at hand to guide us, or defend,
Till breaks at last the dawning of our Day.

If human beings knew that good and powerful beings were watching us, maybe we would stand up more erect and be more beautiful ourselves. We would be inspired to live up to our dignity.

It takes practice to spot angelic presences. But practice alone is not enough, unless one can practice being taken by surprise.

As James Maxton cemented and grouted the seven angels, he underwent a spiritual transformation. A diabetic, coming off drugs, James suffered pain and swelling in his feet. He could only work three hours a day. Once every hour, he would limp back to his house and bathe his feet in ice. It wasn't until he completed the icons that James saw the beauty of what he had created. "I got all choked up," he says. "For me it was a spiritual awakening, just looking at them, seeing the people all around looking at the angels, too. I like to say I was reborn in that garden. It was my personal resurrection."

Life is a tapestry: We are the warp; angels, the weft; God, the weaver. Only the Weaver sees the whole design.