Sometimes late at night, when it is very quiet, I can hear the voices of angels whispering to me. Sometimes I listen. Sometimes I don’t. It’s hard work listening to the whispers of angels because hey never say anything straight out. Most times they speak in riddles and vague shades of meaning. In the Bible, they used to just blurt things out with no messing around, but I’m not in the Bible, so I’m stuck with the riddles.

I used to think that one day I’d figure it all out – that the pieces would come together like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle, but I’ve given up hoping for that. I don’t even think about it anymore.  If it’s a puzzle, it’s a puzzle cut by a mad man.  It will never come together, and the angels can all whisper until Gabriel’s trumpet calls us all home, and it still won’t come together. We’ll laugh maybe at how hard we struggled with the pieces, but that’s still all that we’ll have – a bunch of pieces and riddles.  Night and the whispers of angels is all I really know for sure. 

I try to parse their meanings and catch the words. Sometimes I think I get it. If I take their words into my dreams and fly with them there, it is all clear.  Every word makes sense. Each subtle shade of meaning holds true but it lasts only as long as the night, and vanishes in the morning.

I should be done with the angels all together but I love their songs and they keep coming around. They are beautiful when you catch a glimpse of one, like ever-changing flames. It’s just that I get frustrated. I need the messages no matter how crazy they come. I don’t have to understand and it doesn’t matter for now. I need the messages.

Syd Weedon
11/24/2024