hagiography

the autogeography of a no/body
Jul 2

talking with angels

Raphael, copper throughout, a long beard, flaming hair. And he asked, so I replied, for her, being as he is the healing angel. “We learn about ourselves from how we respond to the suffering of others.”

Michael, sword in hand. He held it up and sunlight hit the blade. “There is a choice. You can blind your enemies and illuminate the path for your friends. You can blind your friends and illuminate the path for your enemies.” Dazzled by the brilliance of reflection. He thrust the blade deep into the earth. Sensing my surprise, he said “Truth is not hewn into stone”.

Gabriel, messenger of God, the sayer. He casts a large black circle, a concave obsidian mirror. “Here.” And in the middle of the dark there is one speck of white light. “Like this.” Cellular, it divides into two, and the two divide into two, and on and on, until the whole black mirror is obscured by the white disc cells. He turns it over. Now it is concave porcelain. “Here.” And in the middle of the light there is one speck of dark. “Like this.” Cellular, it divides into two, and the two divide into two, and on and on, until the whole white mirror is obscured by the black disc cells. He nods. “I am the sayer.”

Uriel, carved in stone, sitting on a stone throne, old man, his plinth at the top of an endless flight of stone steps. I stand in front of his silence.

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