Calling all angels

“Calling All Angels”  acrylic on canvas, (c) Cat Charissage, 2019, a.r.r.

Hello Dear Friends,

Today feels like a hinge:  the weather here has just broken from a very long very cold snap to something that maybe feels like spring might be possible; it’s the New Moon today;  and it’s Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, which is the 40 day preparation time for Easter in the Christian calendar.

Today I offer you a recent poem that also inspired the painting above.  I think most of us have had the feelings I’m trying to describe in the poem.

May your month go as well as possible, with new possibilities everywhere you look!

With much love and many blessings,

Cat

Calling All Angels

— Cat Charissage (c) 2019

 

At 2 a.m. old fears come to visit:

coulda, shoulda, mighta, oughta. . . .

and then old wounds join in to sing harmony.

Scar tissue may be strong, but it sure can ache. . . .

 

At 2 a.m., before I’m totally drowned by

fear, memory, pain,

I yell out my prayers:

sometimes they’re addressed

“To Whom It May Concern,”

other times, “Anyone out there?!?”

But last night I started with

“Calling all angels. . .

Calling all angels. . .

Help?!

Now would be a good time to show up!

Calling all angels!”

 

And I see, in my mind’s eye,

A flock of ravens alighting in the trees.

At 2 a.m. they are nearly invisible. . .

In fact, I’m not sure they’re there at all. . .

I mean, ravens don’t fly in flocks

at 2 a.m.

 

And ravens aren’t angels, either. . . .

Usually. . . .

 

So what do I want?

A white dove hovering over my head?

What it if needs to poop?  Right there and then?

Face it, don’t you ever wonder about those kinds of things too?

I mean, life’s like that sometimes, right?

 

But I’m particularly partial to ravens.

Discovering the wisdom of my First Nations neighbors

who call raven Trickster,

trickster who brings light,

the light of consciousness,

the light of wisdom,

the light to see.

What an apt reminder of what we really need,

What an apt reminder of God. . .

 

How many white doves have you seen lately?

But how many ravens, or their crow cousins, have you seen?

I like that:  God amongst us, crows everywhere,

Ravens amongst us, God everywhere

Black as a night with no moon,

The black of night dreams, of pure possibility.

Possibility amongst us, possibility everywhere?

 

But in my vision after calling all angels,

It’s full moon lunacy,

the ravens alighting in the trees.

Not one raven, but many, plenty, more than enough.

Ravens reflecting pure gold,  pure treasure.

 

Wait —- ravens aren’t golden.

They’re probably not there.

Maybe the trees are just winter bare,

The gold I saw just trickery

conjured by hopeful despair. . .

Probably.

 

Ah, but, maybe they are there

holding possibilities,

bringing light,

bringing plenty, bringing more than enough.

 

Maybe the angels did come to call,

answering, with possibilities from the fertile dark,

my plea

“Calling all angels!”