Angels In My Pocket

Quietly and without circumstance, they come into our lives and heal us.  Hovering ever so patiently in the background, they offer kind words and a hand to hold.  They poke at us mentally just enough to keep us moving and then settle lightly into our subconscious, creating a feeling of well being and hope where there had been none only a short time before.

Where do they come from, these angels with invisible wings? 

I have often written about the endless futility of what I call the "ships passing in the night" syndrome.  I have questioned the purpose of having someone come into my life, only to leave an impression, but no other viable contribution past a feeling of loss once they are gone.  As I age yet another day, I begin to see the wisdom gained from having these selfless celestial beings touch my life and I am gaining a new appreciation for those I know who are worthy of angel status, even when they do inevidably fade into nothingness and disappear from my life.

Where do they go when they leave, these angels with invisible wings? 

My angels are everywhere.  I find them in the oddest of places and meet them in the strangest of ways.  They are spread over thousands of miles, yet I can feel them, their thoughts vibrating my heart, even as I sit quietly typing on my keyboard.  Our thoughts become connected and the image of a hundred smiles flash before my eyes.

Angels don't run from life, they fly towards it on silent wings.  They are kindness and gentleness, goodness and purity of heart and they clearly define the virtues of benevolence. They refract and reflect the light, recasting it to illuminate our darkest moments and they guide with a peaceful quietness that allows us to walk our path fueled by our own inner strength and wisdom.

Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'  The Talmud

And then one morning you wake up to a day just like any other day, only to realize some time later that it was the time chosen by your angel to move on.  They fade into the background of your life and become less and less visible.  They quietly and with no ceremony disappear behind whatever silver cloud they rest, until they become nothing more than a memory, layered upon other memories.

In quiet moments of reflection I can still see the light of their smiles and hear the softly spoken words which trace the imprints they have left on my heart.  They may very well have been ships passing in the night.... as you too may become, but with wisdom gained, I now realize their purpose is not always one of physical permanence, but of a mental and spiritual permanence; each memory becomes their contribution as a solidified and fortified piece of the foundation upon which I will continue to live and evolve within my lifetime. 

Every man contemplates an angel in his future self. - Ralph Waldo Emerson