“Do you believe in angels?” she asked as she gathered the spread cards before her, eyes returning to gaze over stilled sky.
“I do,” he answered. “I believe in their origin, angelos—messengers—and that their messages find us through different mediums and means.”
“How so?” she asked.
“Maybe a stranger, maybe a friend, maybe a sign, line or passage in a book…Too many times in life I’ve received perfect message at perfect time; and at others intercession of strangers speaking precise wordings, repetition of private thought, or direct posing of question—an intercession for soul?
Maybe it is all chance, and my mind makes it more; but I don’t believe so. It isn’t of mind. It’s spirit’s sense that insinuates to something more.”
She smiled, bright teeth showing through curled frame of rouged lips.
“If looking back on definitive life moments, haven’t we all received messages—signs? What comes to us, without seeking, to impart effect and guide us in a course?
What messages come, without our seeking, to speak something in a moment, state of mind and spirit, which resounds and affects in a way we could never imagine?”
Above, the sun softened, white aurora spreading and discerned in apparent easing flame of light.
“Why would a Creator’s spirit trouble to engage something as small as us?”
He smiled, shrugging his shoulders as he looked too toward sky. “Love…it isn’t about making sense; it just is. Maybe the human spirit, that with the potential to connect with God and other souls, has more worth than we could ever imagine. Maybe there is a continuing and living war for good and evil; worldly knowledge versus wisdom; material versus spiritual; chaos versus order; existence versus nothingness of nihilism’s manifested end—beyond human comprehension; and each and every one of our spirits play a part.
Maybe there really is a purpose for every life—however small and shifting of the part when properly played—and angels come because, without us, a battle—or even war—might be lost.”
Sun pulsed in wax then wane of radiant light; and gazing through glasses, she wondered if it was real or only imagined; sign or serendipity.
What words speak? What signs come, without our seeking or desire to receive, affecting profoundly on our souls as if sent solely for engagement of our spirit—because that is exactly what they are?
She contemplated.
Wind beat in sudden force and after-settle of disturbance as, unseen, angelos departed.