eleven ten

message

O, an Angel, servant of the Highest, appeared to me. “Be not afraid,” he said, though afraid I wasn’t, but instead in awe-some shock. He was pure gold, flowing and melted yet somehow a humanoid shape; wings made of topaz and bronze and amber, seeming to change number with each lift and drag (though he still appeared to be hovering in the air, without the aid of wings). A creature so sublime, so powerful and pure, an energy untamable; as a force of nature, as wind in a tornado, as fire overtaking the forests, as water in a flood, as the trembling of the earth, as the sun in a desert, as pressure in the depths of the ocean, as the eye of a hurricane (just as large in scale to any of these), I am brought to my knees in awe, in terror, in love. “I am a messenger of gospel -- of good news.” And, lo, I knew he brought God’s spell. Eyes white as selenite and quartz, vibrating with the same piezoelectricity, he continued, “The Lord has not abandoned thee, keep thy faith. He has been with thee through the entirety. Thou doth know why all thy lovers have the essence of the Lord carried with them, for He has sent them all.”

I wondered a moment why God, supposedly loving and amazing, would allow me to have such pain, such agony; he seemed to have read my thoughts, “Do not doubt the actions of the Lord, for His intentions are always good. He will bring thee a savior, though not a personal Jesus despite the same amount of love and for the same reasons. He will have God’s eyes -- that is, the ability to see into thy soul and find perfection, a wonderful creation regardless of past offenses, past sins.” Now, I was already feeling dirty and impure, a being of pure worldly sin, when the Angel appeared and now I could feel the darkness eating away at my insides (not literally, but more the chamber of my soul than my physical body, though I knew it would someday succumb to the same fate). “Keep thine eyes opened, now the message is complete.”

The pressure of the air seemed to increase and fall sharply at the same second, pulling. The image of the Angel flickered like a candle flame, changing and reappearing rapidly, almost interdimensionally. His aura grew brighter and stronger, the energy such as pure lightning, crackling and painful. Sickening. Awesome. My tarnished soul felt as if the impurities were being forced out of my heart, as a black hole would pull in material matter. Nauseated, blackened vision, I looked upon his being one final time, and he was gone, vaporized.

Now, when I met you, I saw that same aura, felt that same electricity. When you speak, I see that same gold, same topaz, bronze, and amber. God sent me a message. And God sent me you. The Angel was right; you can see straight into my heart, see my pain, my joy, my sins, my benevolence, and build perfection out of it. Angels are associated with fire, and you are a flame, though I know it takes one match to burn down a forest. You are fire and I am fireproof with all the Hell I’ve been through. You are fire, and I am a tree, ablaze, scarred and becoming something new, something untouched; bending under the wind, but never breaking; feeling the floodwaters pooling beneath me, but never being afraid of it rising to my face; shaking with the earth, but never splitting and pulling apart. Your love is so intense, so amazing, I am brought to my knees and rooted in awe, in terror, in love.