The angel loved this child.
It’s not that all angels love their charges.
Mostly it’s just a job, though a job, of course,
they perform joyfully. It is not usually so personal, so human.
The angel watched over the child with poignant care.
It was not in angelic power to keep the child untouched by
the myriad harms, disappointments, longing pain, hapless tragedies
of mortal consequence. Yes, the angel was assigned as Guardian,
but only insofar as to protect this life, keep intact the necessary
attributes to fulfill this promised role in the great production,
attributes brought to fruition through exercise in lesser roles over
maturation, incremental expression of range.
So the angel watched this child grow, awkwardly, teased and
tortured into position within a cultural tradition designed to control,
keep order for elite convenience. The devoted angel whispered kind
encouragement, kept vigil lest the child’s unique imagination be
The angel loved so intensely as to be able to manifest in dreams,
mind wanderings, delicate places inviolate by what our world expects
and enforces. Even when it seemed all seethed with horror, relentless
sorrow, madness beyond comprehension, stench of mundane rot,
the angel’s adoring presence gave a supportive touchstone of calm.
Always, look without the deceptive bias of eyes, listen without prejudice
of language, feel soothed, understood. The angel holds vibrational
essence gently, passionately in boundless ethereal generosity. They are
bonded twins, each more profoundly blessed in affinity.