Intermission: Gathering (for my Father)
(January 27, 1951... Frenchman Flat, Nevada, early morning)
When Raphael touched ground, he sighed at the stark beauty of the place. Around him the white hard earth was frozen in waves and peaks, with grey rocks as the crests of these immobile waves. Dawn was slowly casting a faint colorless glow over the area. Empty, yes, and certainly inhospitable land, but Raphael never saw that as detracting from beauty. He adored Creation, and held it with the same bottomless regard and wonder as a child might.
He folded his wings, and the dust whirled up momentarily in a glittering cloud.
For some time, Raphael simply stood there, feeling the cold of the ground and the thrumming of its ancient chords through his bare feet, made flesh for this visit. He knew perfectly well that a human would have been uncomfortable under the brisk chopping of the wind in such a place, but he exulted in the brilliant interplay of energy cascading down and around him.
"It is a gathering," came Michael's voice, from nearby.
Raphael turned to face his older brother with a smile, pleasantly surprised (though few things were not pleasant surprises to Raphael).
When Michael walked as flesh and blood, it was not easy to hear his chords, for they resonated very much like the notes intrinsic to Creation. Gabriel called him the complete circle, once, and Raphael thought that was true. Closest to Heaven and Earth both, Michael's choice of physical bodies mirrored that fact. A human would see a muscular man, tinged with age but still powerful, with a body that carried the weight of years of travel and autonomy. His face was all wisdom in hard lines, but with a rare smile like a clear sky and eyes that shone with some indescribable purpose and fulfillment. Michael never hesitated.
"It has been such a long time since I was called here," Raphael said, and then smiled at the pleasure of shaping words. No matter the body, his voice was always close to the music he loved. Even if present on earth for a long time, he always had a sense of the ethereal about him, a beauty and honesty that shone from him no matter his mood.
"It's a good reason," replied Michael, showing a hint of impatience. "You stay away for too long, Raphael."
"Heaven, Michael, has little for me to do here."
"For now. Your time is coming again. Even so, you would do well to note earth as well as Heaven... both of them are full of praise." Michael nodded his rough head towards the east, where Gabriel was folding her scorching wings, the near-invisible flames whipping the air into ripples. "That's four. Uriel is already here, far above us."
Raphael smiled at Gabriel, who walked towards them shrouded in black, a thin Persian woman with wild and hot darkness for eyes. She looked through his pale beauty, and they were perfect in their contrast; her dusky skin and soot-black hair next to his pale gold and smooth alabaster. They shared intensity of emotion, though at different poles, and they greeted with a touch of the fingertips that cracked the earth beneath them.
"It is beginning," Gabriel said, pointing upward, where in the sky, they could see the faint dark mote of a plane, a blot on the face of cold clarity.
Raphael delighted in the human dream of flying; it was something he loved to share with them when he was permitted, but his curiosity was beginning to peak. "It has been quite a long while, as this place measures out moments, since we were all together. What is it, that we should be here?"
"Uriel was first to hear it," said Michael in reply, watching Gabriel's fervent eyes as they stared at the sun. "The notes were in his range, and his pitch. The rest of us followed naturally as the progression continued. I was already here, so I came when I felt him arrive."
"I saw this before," murmured Gabriel. "I saw this in a dream, when last I walked here."
Raphael regarded his sister with some mild concern, even though concern was not really warranted. Gabriel was their prophet, their visionary, and she was tangled with understanding of divine will. It burned in her, and would not cease, and truth lit her lips like the flames that she loved so much. "What dream is that?"
"You are the witness of Heaven, Raphael," she said. "You are the fountain of hope. You and I, we are the binding and loosing of our Creator. Love and Faith. And here we stand with Michael, who bridges Heaven and Earth. This is a prayer, the dream of a prayer."
Michael was looking up and away, his arms folded, as if he'd already known what Gabriel was going to say. Perhaps he did. Even to them, he was a mystery at times. To Raphael's discerning eye, however, it seemed to him that Michael looked angry. Not wrathful, for that was not his purview; but angry as a father is when his child does something amiss.
"Uriel is following it down," he said.
"If Uriel is called here, then something terrible is happened," said Raphael. "What is it?"
"Gabriel is right; we are here to pray, and Uriel is here for the same reason," came Michael's reply. "And here is the reason."
Then the explosion came, and the world was full of thundering wind that blasted the shape of the ground away, and intense heat that laid sheens of glass on the rocks around them. They felt the air vanish and then crash back in to the space that was emptied of it, and when the flash was gone, the thundercloud of Uriel stood nearby, his wings like the shadows of scythes spreading wide from his brooding shape.
Gabriel went to him and stood nearby, as if warming herself and attempting to warm him at the same time, but did not dare touch him. The flare of their respective devotions would have been too much for the earth they stood on.
Uriel turned his inexorable eyes to the others.
"They do not understand," he said, the words hollow and rusty; Uriel rarely spoke.
"No, they don't," replied Michael, turning to his brother, his eyes pained. "But they will. One day they will."
"How do you know," asked Raphael softly, his eyes shining with grief.
Michael looked directly at him, and Raphael saw that inscrutable will behind Michael's gaze again, backing the tight smile that followed.
"Because I understand," said Michael. "And they are far closer to me than they know."
When Raphael touched ground, he sighed at the stark beauty of the place. Around him the white hard earth was frozen in waves and peaks, with grey rocks as the crests of these immobile waves. Dawn was slowly casting a faint colorless glow over the area. Empty, yes, and certainly inhospitable land, but Raphael never saw that as detracting from beauty. He adored Creation, and held it with the same bottomless regard and wonder as a child might.
He folded his wings, and the dust whirled up momentarily in a glittering cloud.
For some time, Raphael simply stood there, feeling the cold of the ground and the thrumming of its ancient chords through his bare feet, made flesh for this visit. He knew perfectly well that a human would have been uncomfortable under the brisk chopping of the wind in such a place, but he exulted in the brilliant interplay of energy cascading down and around him.
"It is a gathering," came Michael's voice, from nearby.
Raphael turned to face his older brother with a smile, pleasantly surprised (though few things were not pleasant surprises to Raphael).
When Michael walked as flesh and blood, it was not easy to hear his chords, for they resonated very much like the notes intrinsic to Creation. Gabriel called him the complete circle, once, and Raphael thought that was true. Closest to Heaven and Earth both, Michael's choice of physical bodies mirrored that fact. A human would see a muscular man, tinged with age but still powerful, with a body that carried the weight of years of travel and autonomy. His face was all wisdom in hard lines, but with a rare smile like a clear sky and eyes that shone with some indescribable purpose and fulfillment. Michael never hesitated.
"It has been such a long time since I was called here," Raphael said, and then smiled at the pleasure of shaping words. No matter the body, his voice was always close to the music he loved. Even if present on earth for a long time, he always had a sense of the ethereal about him, a beauty and honesty that shone from him no matter his mood.
"It's a good reason," replied Michael, showing a hint of impatience. "You stay away for too long, Raphael."
"Heaven, Michael, has little for me to do here."
"For now. Your time is coming again. Even so, you would do well to note earth as well as Heaven... both of them are full of praise." Michael nodded his rough head towards the east, where Gabriel was folding her scorching wings, the near-invisible flames whipping the air into ripples. "That's four. Uriel is already here, far above us."
Raphael smiled at Gabriel, who walked towards them shrouded in black, a thin Persian woman with wild and hot darkness for eyes. She looked through his pale beauty, and they were perfect in their contrast; her dusky skin and soot-black hair next to his pale gold and smooth alabaster. They shared intensity of emotion, though at different poles, and they greeted with a touch of the fingertips that cracked the earth beneath them.
"It is beginning," Gabriel said, pointing upward, where in the sky, they could see the faint dark mote of a plane, a blot on the face of cold clarity.
Raphael delighted in the human dream of flying; it was something he loved to share with them when he was permitted, but his curiosity was beginning to peak. "It has been quite a long while, as this place measures out moments, since we were all together. What is it, that we should be here?"
"Uriel was first to hear it," said Michael in reply, watching Gabriel's fervent eyes as they stared at the sun. "The notes were in his range, and his pitch. The rest of us followed naturally as the progression continued. I was already here, so I came when I felt him arrive."
"I saw this before," murmured Gabriel. "I saw this in a dream, when last I walked here."
Raphael regarded his sister with some mild concern, even though concern was not really warranted. Gabriel was their prophet, their visionary, and she was tangled with understanding of divine will. It burned in her, and would not cease, and truth lit her lips like the flames that she loved so much. "What dream is that?"
"You are the witness of Heaven, Raphael," she said. "You are the fountain of hope. You and I, we are the binding and loosing of our Creator. Love and Faith. And here we stand with Michael, who bridges Heaven and Earth. This is a prayer, the dream of a prayer."
Michael was looking up and away, his arms folded, as if he'd already known what Gabriel was going to say. Perhaps he did. Even to them, he was a mystery at times. To Raphael's discerning eye, however, it seemed to him that Michael looked angry. Not wrathful, for that was not his purview; but angry as a father is when his child does something amiss.
"Uriel is following it down," he said.
"If Uriel is called here, then something terrible is happened," said Raphael. "What is it?"
"Gabriel is right; we are here to pray, and Uriel is here for the same reason," came Michael's reply. "And here is the reason."
Then the explosion came, and the world was full of thundering wind that blasted the shape of the ground away, and intense heat that laid sheens of glass on the rocks around them. They felt the air vanish and then crash back in to the space that was emptied of it, and when the flash was gone, the thundercloud of Uriel stood nearby, his wings like the shadows of scythes spreading wide from his brooding shape.
Gabriel went to him and stood nearby, as if warming herself and attempting to warm him at the same time, but did not dare touch him. The flare of their respective devotions would have been too much for the earth they stood on.
Uriel turned his inexorable eyes to the others.
"They do not understand," he said, the words hollow and rusty; Uriel rarely spoke.
"No, they don't," replied Michael, turning to his brother, his eyes pained. "But they will. One day they will."
"How do you know," asked Raphael softly, his eyes shining with grief.
Michael looked directly at him, and Raphael saw that inscrutable will behind Michael's gaze again, backing the tight smile that followed.
"Because I understand," said Michael. "And they are far closer to me than they know."