Do yourself a favor, a kindness really.
Close your eyes and exhale slowly. Listen to your breath as it leaves your body.
Think of the times you’ve literally crawled completely under your bed covers, luxuriating in the warmth that surrounded you. Remember the peace it brought? When you exhale again, try to recall that inner peace. I know it sounds eccentric, perhaps even unorthodox or kooky. But give yourself a chance . . . and listen with your heart. Ignore what the ears funnel into your brain, just for a moment.
To the attentive, something stirs.
Some do.
Some don’t.
I happen to believe in angels. Always have.
It’s not something I wear on my sleeve, but be assured I keep them close to the vest at all hours.
This past weekend I went to—and participated in—the Tucson Festival of Books. Big crowd, gorgeous weather; it was quite a pleasant event. I got there early (gee, how typical of me) and located one of the ‘Author Pavilions’ I was to be at for my allotted two hour time. I hung around the first tent (‘pavilion’) I came to, until one of the other authors announced it was Pavilion 1 . . . D’OH! I was supposed to be in Pavilion 2. So I wandered around until I found it.
That part isn’t all that interesting.
When I arrived I chose a spot between two other folks who had already set up. I didn’t know anybody there, so the choice of seat was entirely random on my part. Although now I’m not completely certain it was.
See, the two ladies to my left (your right in the picture) had written a book titled Your Angels Are Speaking. I didn’t look before I sat down. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t inquired about their book until I’d been sitting there for about twenty minutes. We chatted for a bit before I broached the subject. When she told me what it was and then began telling me about how it came about, I was, naturally, intrigued.
Here’s where I lose some readers, but that’s alright. . .
The two women are sisters. One of them, years ago, said she had actually encountered her guardian angels. Apparently she was able to connect with them over the span of a few months. One sister did the writing while the other spoke aloud. Mind you, they were very normal people. You’d think someone like that might seem to have shaken a few screws loose, but I’m telling you they were as down-to-earth as you or I.
In case you’re wondering, I did buy a copy and have only just starting reading it. But let me relate a quick story to you about a time that cemented my belief:
I remember, quite some time ago, being worried about a dear friend of mine who lives in New York. I hadn’t heard from her in quite a while, even though I had tried e-mailing a number of times. I went to bed one night and prayed aloud, asking for whatever kind of divine assistance I may receive—I needed to know she was okay, even hoped she would contact me. Remember, I had heard zip for months—many months at that. Frankly, I didn’t expect to hear anything, but while my head tried to slap sense into me, my heart fervently hoped for that small sliver of a chance she might get the message.
The very next day she wrote to me.
“Coincidence,” you say. Perhaps. I can’t rule it out. But given my prior experience I wasn’t inclined to take that bait.
I truly believe that I wouldn’t have heard one word, perhaps for many more months, had I not allowed my heart to cry out for help. I was beyond mortal means of communication. If I searched my memory I’m sure I could recall a multitude of instances when my guardian angels have helped me.
I am but a mortal soul, perhaps an essence of some kind or other restricted by physical flesh and bone. The biological machine continues to operate under the laws of nature, but the true self aspires to the deeper truth of Nature’s God.
