Are you an angel?
Or a prayer?
Or is that, perhaps,
The same thing?
On my morning walk, I happened upon the vestiges of a tree which had been struck by lightning. The sun had temporarily retreated behind the clouds and I stood for a while, intrigued by the shape of the remaining trunk. Angels’ wings, or perhaps two heads bowed in prayer?
Sometimes a moment of intuition flashes through the mind like a falling star – bright and luminescent for a moment before fading, while the dazzling light remains imprinted on our consciousness. We grasp at the image, willing ourselves to understand what spirit alone can fully comprehend.
In one such moment, the intuitive light blazed and, before it vanished, I grasped, so fleetingly, the sense that what we think of as angels, what we think of as prayer – true prayer – these are metaphors for participation in the deepest experience of existence, of the sense of the sacred, of the mystery of all mysteries. Our soul flies upwards on wings of exultation, yearning to lose itself in the brilliant fire.
As these insights flickered across my mind like faint images on a screen, the sun emerged from behind its cloud with dazzling intensity – a metaphor for the transient moment of clarity to which my words cannot do justice.
As it faded once more, I found myself standing before the riven tree … and I pondered the metaphor of a power so great that it may destroy or transform. How we view it and how we receive it, that is for us to decide.