Lie not in wait...

against the home of the just man,
ravage not his dwelling place;
For the just man falls seven times and rises again,
but the wicked stumble to ruin. ---Proverbs 24:15-16




An incredible book has fallen into my hands. It's a book that has moved from place to place. My mother sent meAngel Power by Janice T. Cornell. It constructs an incredible portrait of the Nine Choirs of Angels and their place in modern life.



The Seraphim, Cherabim, and Thrones are the Angels of Pure Contemplation. The Dominions, Powers, and Virtues govern all the cosmos. And then there are the "celebrities" that govern all the world: The Principalities, Archangels, and Angels. Each choir is actively engaged in the mission of helping humans gain entrance to the Kingdom of Heaven. They come where and when they are properly invited, you might even say 'welcomed.' Over the years, I'd have to say Gabriel has visited Mom a few times, while my life is filled with recurring images of Michael. A recent incident uncovered the seemingly "threaded" links of Michael in my life.



The advent of Ann and Andy coming back into my life brings with it flashes of armor, swords, fire, and a fascinating sense of the unknown swirling in my head. I cannot help but think of these things when I speak to either of them. Ann reminded me of my old living room in 6B (truly a haunted place) when she kept turning around while we sat at my dining room table. "Is there something there?" she kept asking me. I asked her what she felt was there, and her reply was, "I sense someone. A boy maybe." I thought nothing of it at the time, although Roger Pratt, a gifted psychic and good friend of my family, always told me there was a blue-eyed, blond, curly-haired boy who was tall and rather serious, with me when darkness came. When I asked him what he meant by "darkness", he said to me plainly, "Your apartment is much different at night than during the day." He was correct. I came to terms with strange noises and footsteps in the middle of the night. He told me to purchase a red candle and acknowledge Saint Michael in my bedroom. This was a few weeks before Ann visited me back in 1997.



The history of that apartment came to me over the years as one that seemed to attract chaos. The previous tenants had a history of domestic violence. There were holes in the walls, and one of the closets had scratches etched into it as if there were an animal hidden inside. The landlord at the time had a devil of a time getting any tenant to rent it for over 2 years. Well, in 1982, the next family was mine. We were not without our own disturbances, given my own parents' volatile relationship. What this dungeon didn't count on was my family's spirituality: relics of Mary, Jude, and Anthony graced almost every room, and with my later occult volumes added to the hall closet, well, we were certainly prepared. I knew instinctively that to live in the light, I had to understand the darkness. One creepy incident that I recounted to Roger was when the door became unlocked in the middle of the night. Don't ask me how. Roger told me that if that should happen again simply say, "Spirit be with me," as I re-locked the door. I scoffed, but that place was starting to warp my nerves. I was half-way through college, and had two roommate prospects leave Brooklyn to get married. I was 22 at the time. I had no where else to go.



I began a devotional candle to Michael on a particularly rainy night, and kept buying these candles from a tiny Bodega. One side was in Spanish, the other in English with a gold overlay and an image of the sword piercing the demon. An incredible feeling took over that room. Even my father noticed, and he hadn't set foot in a church since Vatican II took away his beloved Latin mass. "Did you clean in here or something?" Apparently I did without knowing it.



Well, this is my third apartment since then, and I haven't felt the need for any angels. I did make a trip a few Fridays ago into (lo and behold) St. Michael's church around the corner from where my job is. I walked in, looked to my left and was entranced with a full life-sized statue of Michael-- curls, armor and all. What is so striking about this statue is that the sword is forged out of metal, not marble. I don't understand how the hand "grips" this sword, since it's solid and heavy. If you kneel under this statue and look up the sword points to your heart, and his face looks right at you. It's an incredible feeling.



Perhaps entering this church was not the whim it looked like for me. A reminder that Mike's still there? Well, that's good--who else checks up on me? A few people, but not many. What a change, though, to know that I am not being used and slandered anymore. My energy is not being wasted on stupidity. Not in my job, not in my life. I can find my armor, and maybe I don't even have to wear it. I am never alone.



Then war broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels battled against the dragon. The dragon and its angels fought back, but they did not prevail and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. The huge dragon, the ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, who deceived the whole world, was thrown down to earth, and its angels were thrown down with it. ---Revelation 12:7-9