Experiment 44 Guardian Angel

"and he gives her angeles
to guard and guide her
once lost, now found
by its grace
the hour we first believed
unending love
in ways, always.."

Dreamweaver – age 22

This was now a journey to the past and perhaps the future. He would see her reading about the guards of his keep. She was inquisitive and thoughtful in her nature. She could feel them; she could sense some of his guards watching over her. Sometimes when he got too close to her field of awareness, when she was dreaming, she could feel him too in her limited senses. And sometimes, he did get close to help her understand the nature of things in his world and hers and how they connected.

She did not often think of him consciously, only when her thoughts strayed and she sought hope or forgiveness, did she wonder. Most of the time, she was grateful and some of the time, she cried herself to sleep from pains in her world. Only in those dire times, did he dare get closer to her, to soothe her with his presence. For a being in pain is numb to every world, including his, and he could bear her agony for her then until she slept past the void.

She was burdened with a body that is too fragile but her spirit is strong enough to help hold the mortal threads together. He was given charge of her, as she to him when it was his turn to breathe. He would guard her till her terms were done.

She was a brave one, taking on the mischief of that realm. She remembered far more than she would admit to. She even remembered their journey together from another time and from another place that no longer existed. The beautiful souls who migrated vastly across spaces are enduring. Each one in a group tasked to find new worlds to grow on. Each one accompanied by their own legion of protectors.

As long as you love me; she was dreaming again, cruising through the tsunami of worlds and strings. He followed her on most of her travels. She usually greeted him warmly whichever form he took to suit her journey. Sometimes she kicked him away like the time when he took the form of an animal she did not like. He did not mind. She did not mean to hurt him. Even in dreams she avoided harming creation.

\\ She is a painter today, in front of her is a black canvas that is a metre higher than she is and about one and a half times as wide. The perfect ratio, she smiles. She has been dreaming a lot recently and today, she finally fuses a few thoughts into action. She has to paint something. She is not sure what as yet but she knows it will come to her. She does not even know what it is yet, just it.

\\ It is better to let go. Her brows furrow slightly at her own thought advising her. Sometimes she is not so sure that she is wise enough to have such an illuminating thought. Doubt threatens her resolve but faith kills any negativity. Okay. Let us do this together, Idea and I.

\\ She dips a newly bought fat paintbrush into a fresh jar of gold coloured paste. She lifts the gold tipped brush up curtly, takes a deep breath and one last look at the dark canvas before her before she closes her eyes. Let it go, she breathes out and her hand sweeps the brush across the space in front of her.

\\ No thoughts, just breathe and move. He whispers into her ear. She listens for a while and relaxes. The brush is spent. Now open your eyes, he smiles. She is musing again about the golden scratches. Not yet. Let us repeat it, this time with the other hand. She paused and looks down to see the brush exchanging hand grip. This is fun, she grins.

\\ Thirteen times she repeats her actions – dip, breathe, close eyes, and sweep. Now she opens her eyes and marvels at the gold swept beauty on the canvas. Something clicks in her mind, an impression in a dream. You can complete the rest of it with your eyes open, he murmurs in her mind.

\\ She drops the paintbrush and dips her fingers into a new jar of acrylic gold. She touches the canvas, caressing the surface as if it were the skin of someone she has met a long time ago. The outlines are familiar; a face soon forms out of the darkness and gold. She knows that face. The face seems to be smiling at her serenely. Who are you? I know you.

\\ The figure in gold on the black canvas stands a little taller than she is. She takes a few steps back and tilts her head to find a different perspective. It vaguely looks like some abstract work of Leonardo da Vinci with its circular arcs on both sides of the figure. That is hilarious, she is no maestro, she is not even an artist, just a scramble of blobs and strokes. But she is happy about the work she did to the image in front of her.

\\ She is lying in bed and staring at her new painting, her first attempt on canvas actually. The light from her bedside lamp cast a golden fire that leapt out from the dark background. She closes her eyes with an imprint of the gold figure image and lets her mind imagine what it can be. Her mind is quickly activated and the figure morphs into the face of a man with a benevolent smile. She smiles back at him; she is dreaming again.

It was near a river at dusk, with a crescent moon and the town lights upon the water’s edge. The winds were chilly and she gathered her shawl closer around her. Feeling cold again, he asked. There was a man standing beside her on her right. He wore a straw hat and a heavy coat that reached past his knees. May I hold you closer, he inquired. How polite, she thought and nodded her head in consent.

He put his hand on her left elbow, using his body to block the wind. It became warmer and more comfortable to appreciate the night. Thank you, she said. The winds no longer misbehaved it seemed. The water lapped softly on the river bank. There were a few small fishing boats in the distant. The stars were coming out as the night fell.

She admired the twinkling pricks of light in the sky, so many were out tonight and not a cloud in the sky. It’s beautiful tonight, she said. She could feel that he was looking at her but she kept her gaze on the stars. Do you recognize any of the star lights, he asked. She looked at the stars more intently.

She put out her right hand, her palm facing the sky, and her fingers curved softly around one of the stars. The star responded to her touch by glowing brighter than the others. She reached out to another star and it did the same. And then to a third star to the horizon, she gave it a different colour, a touch of gold. He seemed pleased. Très bien, ma cherie, he smiled. Il fait bon vivre, she replied.

Now let me show you something else, he said. He too reached out his right hand and put his fingers to the stars but not only did he make them bigger and brighter, he also moved the stars around on the sky canvas. She held her breath, she was fascinated. As he sculpted the night sky, it looked as if the town had faded away and they were standing at the edge of the world, looking out to where the heavens met the oceans.

He took a step back to stand behind her peripheral view which gave her the full panoramic stellar expanse of his work. He never lost contact with her even as she dreamed. Would you like to go closer, he asked. May I please; her eyes reflected the child in her when they used to play. She turned to look at him for the first time that night and she saw the same stellar view reflected in his eyes. She was that much closer to remembering.

She felt like they soared together and there were only orbs of light in darkness. They too were in an orb. He was the epicenter of that golden orb. Our wings, he said, together.

\\ Feathers, she wakes up to a thought of wings and white feathers that glint like gold in the morning sun. Her morning eyes are hazy with dream sands. She looks at the canvas with another perspective – Angel of mine.