Thursday, September 8, 2011
Angels incognito (and you know who you are)
This dolly with the linebacker neck - which I hadn't noticed, or so I tell myself - is a vintage Rubbermoon stamp image. She sprang then, and reappears now, as a reminder that blessings arrive in disguises that would scandalize Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. As I remember the details, her original inspiration was a borderline enraged air conditioner repairman with zero people skills who woke me up to...something. Incognito, duh.
Sometimes we have the glad assignment of being the instrument; sometimes we are chosen to receive the gift. In either role, we, often without knowing, breathe life into hope, participate in and bear witness to the miraculous, the impossible.
Today I dedicate this abbreviated post with its muscular angel, and if I am allowed angels, I sure as hell hope they continue to be muscular by some definition, to a friend who appeared with spools of ribbon and shelves of poetry to expand my knowledge, enrich my life. It is not her natal birthday but if I had the necessary volumes of arcana, I bet they would tell me that today is her name day, her saint's day, her Botticelli's Venus rising from the sea day.
I would be the first to demur any likelihood of my own role as gift, yet I have been told such is the case by those I trust. In mismatched tops and bottoms, crunky hair and drooping eye pouches that suggest post-Civil War carpetbaggers, I apparently possess not only the possibility of being a camouflaged fairy godparent, you AND I absolutely ARE those rare, fluttery, benevolent presences to each other.
Look not askance at whatever crosses your line of sight today. Be attuned to the most hushed and coded whisperings of the unseen. Embrace what may seem unlikely and pay attention, with suspended disbelief, when it seems your most immediate wish has been granted.
We, angels one and all, might be well advised to organize, develop secret Masonic-style handshakes (oops, have I said too much?), bear some identifying lapel flower or carry a folded copy of Rolling Stone (Annie Leibovitz cover) in order to know who-is-who without a lot of dithering about.
But that would remove some of the luscious mystery, wouldn't it? And besides, with the key phrase "pay attention" in mind, we already know, we always know.
As I've written before, like seeks like; like finds like. The universe is one vast network of matchmakers, only, unlike some questionable on-line services, the universe gets it right. We are, at least in my case in utter imperfection, introduced to each other at the perfect moment, with the supreme extra bonus prize of having the rest of our days to celebrate, to bask in, our extraordinary good fortune.