Angel Alarm

Alarm is not a word I would generally use in relation to angels. In fact I did my best to avoid the word when naming her: tried Angel Surprised and Startled Angel before yielding. At least alarm is better than Trapped Angel or Panic In Midair. I think…

I always think of angels as bearers of truth, and usually the truth they bear also brings comfort or reassurance – even affirmation. With this particular angel, it was three weeks before I could fully receive her message. (I still tremble at the prospect of hearing her out.) I began her somewhat blindly: picked up the wire while watching some movie on TCM. Apparently, neither the movie or the angel held my interest because –  for the next week or so – her  upper torso dangled over the edge of my work basket on the stairs to the storage loft. I tried to ignore the desperate look of her (Icould see her from my bed). Finally, during a heart to heart on the telephone with my dear friend, Kendall, I knew it would be in my best interest to give her the abdomen, hips and legs that would ground her and possibly relieve my own state of anxiety – bring my own scattered energy into focus.

Obedience to the artistic imperative – simply placing oneself at the service of art – can calm the clamor that overwhelms us in our daily lives. The thoughts that spin through our brains – intensifyng our reactions to natural occurences – can be stilled by letting our hands do the work that our minds have been stymied by. By giving the angel what she needed, I gave myself rest, and I really was pleased by the lively gesture of her completed body – her abundant wings. I placed her on the arm of my new relaxing chair. Her shine looked lovely against the blue. All seemed well.

Truth to tell, she was still on hold; I had not yet given her that crowning glory: the hair in contrasting gold wire that would complete her gesture and her message. For another week, I kept moving her from chair to bed according to my own requirements. She was waiting, as I was waiting for the demands of my life to be less absorbing, less disturbing, less demanding. She was so dearly patient as I let myself be pulled hither and thither by exterior forces. Yesterday, once again right after a heart to heart with Kendall (Bless her…), I heeded the call and took up the angel in my hands.

This time it was definitely not restful. Though I sat in my comfortable chair, we seemed to be engaged in a kind of wrestling match. The thin gold wire was inclined to tangle with different parts of the angel. It resisted my efforts to control – seemed electric and nearly dangerous to the angel’s already completed form. I must protect and free her as I went through the motions of attaching and shaping her rather surprising hairstyle. When I clipped her loose from the spool and held her aloft, her hair seemed to radiate – sunburst-like – from her head. But now as I look at her starkly highlighted against the black cloth, I can as easily think “hair on end”.

Oh poor dear angel – suspended in your truth that I might understand – I promise to continue this process of releasing us from conflicting forces. We will burst free if willingness has any power at all. I will find the courage to heed the message you have been brave enough to deliver.


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