An Angel on My Shoulder

by David Callinan

  Paul heard the sound first and then gradually saw them. The choral symphony almost caused him to stop breathing. It contained every musical form he had ever heard rolled into one. The harmonies vibrated so deeply within him that he was shaking. The higher notes vibrated at such a high frequency that they became light.

  And the angels. He could see myriad open mouths within balls of light. They gleamed like jewels sparkling in sunlight. They were all singing to him. He was aware that a light body had risen from his form on the bed and was floating and trembling at the awe-inspiring sound. Ru-Ah chanted the angels. Ru-Ah, Ru-Ah, Ru-Ah.

  The mantra reverberated through Paul and he found himself singing it with the angel hordes. His vocal chords did not work so the sound was purely mental. Ru-Ah, he sang and his heart and soul exploded with a joy he had never believed could exist. Something about the name, or sound or mantra was so tortuously familiar that it was painful trying to remember. The word meant something but he could not recall what it was. It was like a wonderful taste or flavour or a deep joyfulness that lay balanced on the rim of his memory. It seemed to come from a different existence. He knew Ru-Ah was a name and that he had been a part of it at one time. The sound occupied all known auditory wavelengths. The angels were sending him a love so pure he felt unworthy to even recognize it for what it was.

  He wanted nothing else but to chant that sound forever. Forever did not exist, he knew that then. It was only now. He knew a point would come when his soul could not take any more.

  He opened his eyes and glanced at Kate. She still slept soundly. He glanced at the clock and was surprised to find that no time had passed.

  With his mind ablaze with excitement, fear and questions with no answers he fell into a deep sleep.

  He awoke refreshed and filled with the memory of the night before. He felt cleansed somehow although his only concern lay in the fact that the angels had not entirely reassured him that he would not be bombarded by spiritual intruders. It looked as though he would have to look after himself.

  Kate had already risen and was in the bathroom. Paul could hear Annie clattering around downstairs and Rory’s gruff voice complaining about something.

  It seemed a long time since he had first played around with the pendulum and opened up channels to spirits. Maybe he should contact Nuttley and ask how to stem the tide and shut the door on these bothersome entities. He decided he would wait and see. If these angel presences were genuine then it wasn’t everyone that they made contact with? Maybe he should feel honoured. A slight niggle of doubt did enter his mind at that point. Best to wait and see. Paul wasn’t sure how to go about getting rid of them. The pendulum had been by-passed.

  Kate popped her head around the door.

  “I’ll be late back tonight,” she told him. “Brenda’s invited me to a lecture.”

  “Oh yes, what kind of lecture?”

  “The history of the women’s movement and the rise of female assertiveness,” she stated.

  “Oh really!” said Paul. “Since when do you need be told about being assertive?”

  “It should be interesting, that’s all,” she said. “She knows I’m married to a new man and that you wouldn’t put up any puerile objections.”

  “It’s about time we had some male assertiveness lectures,” he complained. “Maybe I’ll start a new movement.”

  “I’m booking India today,” she said as she straightened her suit jacket, running her hands along the contours of her body. As he watched her, Paul was visited by an earlier vision, that of Kate with Terry Sullivan and felt an immediate response. Hold on, he had already dismissed that as some kind of mental aberration. He forced the response back inside.

  “Great. Our passports are up-to-date?”

  “I think so. What are you up to today?”

  “I’m visiting a supplier for lunch. Then I might pop in a see Malone on the way home.”

  “I don’t know why you bother with that crackpot. He just plays the system. Most of us have to work to support people like him.”

  “I won’t stay long. I guess he thinks he’s done his bit for this country. He’s worked most of his life, served in the army and fought in a bloody war. That’s how he lost his eye.”

  “I’d forgotten that. He’s a crackpot war hero then. Or maybe the bullet affected his brain.”

  “Don’t become too assertive, will you?”

  “You might like it,” she responded. “A lot of men do.”

  No, thought Paul, don’t let your imagination play tricks on you. Don’t go there.

  “Anyway, must dash. I’ll take Annie in and drop Rory at the bus. He’s dropping out of his course, has he told you?”

  “No,” said Paul, “why?”

  “Maybe you should talk to your son more often and spend less time glued to your computer.”

  Before Paul could reply, Kate had left the bedroom and was tripping downstairs.

  Paul got up, looked at the view over the river, and shuffled into the bathroom for a shower. He heard doors banging and calls of goodbye and he heard the sound of Kate’s car revving in the drive.

  He showered quickly. He had a few hours before he had to leave. As he walked back into the bedroom, his solar plexus began to throb in the now familiar fashion.

  “You will die,” shouted a voice in his head. “If you carry on you will die.”

  Paul was stunned. The voice seemed to disappear down a long tunnel to be replaced by Guardian Angel. Paul asked if he was Guardian Angel and carried out one or two checks.

  “You may find you make contact with other beings,” said the angel. “It is part of the price you must pay at this moment for being chosen. It will pass.”

  “I’m fed up hearing about being chosen. Chosen for what?”

  Paul was pushed to his knees. His head dropped to the floor. He felt the presence of Punishment Angel who began to lash him with some kind of spiritual whip. The pain shot around his body like lightning flashes. Physically, nothing was happening to him. But he felt pain all right. Again, it reached a plateau where it almost became pleasurable. Then it stopped. Paul found he had been biting the carpet leaving teeth and spittle marks in the fibres. A title flashed into his mind. It sounded like a book title or that of a play. ‘An Angel On My Shoulder’ was etched into his frontal lobes like a branding iron. The pain disappeared as soon as it has reached its final intensity. As before there were no marks and no after burn. It was this, so-called, punishment process which brought home to Paul that what was taking place was actually serious. It wasn’t natural. Okay, for all he knew he might be going through some kind of stress trauma but if he was, why hadn’t Kate or the kids picked up on it?

  Paul thought about the title he had been given. He had no idea what it meant or what its significance was.

  “Paul.” It was Development Angel. “We knew each other when I was alive.” Paul was surprised. He received an image of a swarthy woman and the name, Mbezi Fairfoot. Paul could recollect a South African medium he had visited many years ago that had regressed him through hypnosis. He had no idea she was dead. This was extraordinary.

  “Paul, you have been chosen to write a book. But before that, you will prepare a first book which will be the precursor to the second. Someone you will meet will write this first book. It will be called: ‘An Angel On My Shoulder’ and it will be the story of this experience. It will be read all over the world.”

  “I’m no writer,” said Paul.

  “The book you will eventually write will be no ordinary book. And it will be many years before you write it. Many people all over the Earth are being prepared to carry out a multitude of tasks to prepare the way for the Light Of The World. He may be known to begin with as the new Messiah or the new Buddha or the new Mohammed but he will be none of those. He is just The One. His purpose is to transform the world and take it to the next stage of its evolution.”

  “Why can’t he write his own book?” asked Paul.

  As soon as he asked the ques
tion he immediately knew the answer. This person could not read or write.

  “He is alive today, Paul.”

  Paul was given the information that this person whom he would meet was now a boy of 15 years of age and a Native American Indian.

  “Your part in this is to write down the words of the new Messiah, the One. He is really a supreme being in human form, a true avatar. We call him the Messiah because it is a name the world recognizes but he will quickly demonstrate that he belongs to no religion ever formed on Earth.”

  “I don’t understand, why me?”

  “You are one of many, Paul. It was the purpose of your creation and of your birth.”

  “Is this all the explanation I’m going to get?”

  “You will be fully prepared,” interjected Prosperity Angel. “And the first book whose title you have been given will make you a success in this life.”

  “It will be the start of the journey for you, Paul,” explained Guardian Angel. “The first book will alert the world to the story. You will meet others who will start to prepare you to meet the One before you meet the person who will write this book with you. Those whom you will meet are also part of this process although some are aware of it and others are not. The first book will take you on a journey of development and danger to the point of departure on a higher journey when you will meet others like yourself who will prepare you further. Throughout the course of your life you will gradually be made ready to meet him. Then you will transcribe his words which will form a new book of wisdom and guidance which mankind must follow.”

  Paul did not know how to react. He felt such a mixture of emotions that it was impossible to pin one down. He felt a sense of awe at the sheer wonder of the idea that some being alive today would be so spiritually powerful that it could change the course of mankind’s destiny. He felt fear because something at the back of his mind was telling him that nothing like this happens without an opposite reaction and he was directly in the firing line.

  He felt disbelief because how could a rational person believe any of this fairy tale? He felt also a sense of honour that he had been selected for such a vital role. But this could just be his ego cranking into overdrive. He felt concern for his mental state. This was shaping up to becoming a long-term life event and he didn’t want that. He could not, however, see any way out of this situation. If these angels were who they claimed to be, and Paul could sense other angelic members of this group who had not yet made contact, then he was powerless to oppose them. This punishment business was a prime example. He could not prevent it happening. And, despite all this, he had to work as normal, go to meetings and take part in family life.

  “This is the first phase,” explained Development Angel. “You will be prepared during this time and you may be exposed to other forces that will become aware of you. But we will protect you. Then it will be over for some time. Life will be as it is normally. You will not hear from us or any other entity. Gradually, over a period, you will meet others on Earth who will help and educate you leading to a meeting with the person who will write the book. Then again, later, once the book has prepared those in the world who will listen for what is to come, you will start to meet a higher order of beings on Earth and be led to meet The One, the Messiah.”

  “Tell me about him,” said Paul.

  “You have been told all that is necessary,” snapped Punishment Angel. Paul took an involuntary step back. “I am not about to punish you. You are carrying marks from previous births that I am removing. You may experience some unusual feelings from time to time. This is part of the process.”

  “What about the pendulum?” Paul asked mentally. “Can I still use it?”

  “Yes,” chimed in Prosperity Angel. “You may find it useful in a low level way, particularly for contacting your supreme soul. Just take precautions against wayward spiritual forces. There are many of them occupying the band of existence between material life and angelic life. But, you will outgrow the pendulum. It is merely a tool, often misused. You are part of a much more important set of events, Paul. You are one of the elect.”

  Paul experienced something quite remarkable then. He suddenly began to realize that he was being held in high esteem by this band of angels. The fact that he was carrying on life as normal, more or less, and having these angelic communications without turning into a schizophrenic (as far as he knew) was actually quite something. He felt a sense of love and respect coming from the other side. He thought about the first book, ‘An Angel On My Shoulder’ and thought how appropriate the title was. He had no clear idea what kind of book it would be. Suddenly, a vision was placed in his mind.

  He saw words on a page and, as if he had speed scanned the book in an instant, could see the book and its cover and sensed the controversy it would cause.

  “Yes, it will be controversial,” said Guardian Angel. “You will be sought after once it is published. And a publisher will be found.”

  Paul was still standing naked in the bedroom. He decided he had had enough revelations for one day. This would take some thinking about. He didn’t know whether to weep or embrace the idea. He did feel a sense of exclusivity. He was special. He had been chosen. Not many people could say that. And what an event to be chosen for! Awesome or what?

  He dressed quickly, glancing out of the window at the river in the distance. Sometimes during these angel discourses he didn’t seem able to move and do things. So when he did move, they tended to be over for the moment.

  The angels, or the voices in his head for want of a better description, talked so powerfully and emotionally that he found himself being convinced without putting up much of a struggle. They seemed to have every angle covered. He speeded up, slipping into a short sleeved shirt and trousers.

  He went downstairs and checked his email before picking up his briefcase and leaving the house. He said goodbye to Sabre, stroking the terrier’s rough coat. As he got into the car, he thought again of the half-dream he had experienced, meeting his mother who had died twenty years ago. Although he sometimes remembered his growing up years his memories were never as vivid as the recent experience had been. He knew that he was going to have more dreams like that. Did they contain messages? Who could say?

  He’d done well for himself really. That is, for a boy from the poor side of town. He hadn’t realized how poor they were until senior school when he met other boys to whom an inside toilet, hot water on demand, a refrigerator and a telephone were just taken for granted. In the strong ethnic expatriate community he had grown up in, they closed ranks and took care of their own. If you wanted to keep food cool you waited until the ice lorry turned into your street and you could buy a block of ice which you placed in the deep hole lined with sackcloth in the garden. This would keep meat cool for a time. The hole was dug in the shade under a laurel tree.

  The outside toilet was adequate. Paul’s father used to save money on toilet tissue by cutting up newspapers into squares and if you wanted hot water you boiled it up on the gas stove. A tin bath hung from a rusty iron peg in the backyard to be taken in religiously once a week. The gas stove was pretty busy on bath night. Paul sometimes wished he’d had a brother or a sister, but on bath nights he was glad he was an only child.

  Why these images had come to him as he drove up the track and turned into the narrow road that ran down to the main route into town he didn’t know. He must be becoming overly sensitized, he thought.

  It was good to get out of the house. He had been feeling really claustrophobic of late, caused undoubtedly by these angel presences.

  But he was still uncertain about the other voices that had been entering his cerebral cortex. Just what were they? The angels were one thing, quite individualistic and, in a weird kind of way, you knew where you were with them. By now, Paul was sure that if they had been aberrations, mental or otherwise, then he would have figured it out. They were consistent. They told one story. They emanated a love he had never before experienced.

  But they had
indicated that he might be subject to attack by other spiritual forces. Paul had a sudden vision of Kate visiting him in a secure ward where he was held in a padded cell for his own safety. He shook the nightmarish scenario out of his mind. It was too late for regrets but he did now wish he had never set eyes on Nuttley and his pendulum board game. It was no game that was for sure. And, then again, perhaps the revelations it had made and still could make were true. What then? He had to find a way of getting rid of all of them. He just knew there was an army of weirdo spirits attracted to him all because a door to his psyche had been opened. How to close it was now the main problem. His desire to do so was only placated by the seductive ideas and propositions of the angels. They had his psychology down pat. Well, if they were who they said they were then they would do, wouldn’t they?

  He joined the main route into town. It was familiar, comforting. He was looking forward to lunch with Alan, who supplied him with database services and was a good man. They got on well. Ten miles outside town he turned off north and headed for Alan’s office in a small village a few miles away. It was then that Paul began to feel strange. He wasn’t hearing voices or fending off unwelcome spirits, but he was experiencing an odd sense of fear which was rumbling around deep inside his solar plexus and starting to send tingling cold shivers throughout his entire body.

  He took a deep breath and focused on his driving. But the sense of foreboding grew more intense. He felt he should stop the car, stop driving and get a grip of himself. He was quite rational, or at least he felt that way, it was just that he was havingto battle against something unknown, something very dark indeed on the edge of his field of vision.

  He pulled over a few miles short of his destination and fought the feelings of fear that were beginning to infect him like a virus. He took deep breaths but was being overcome by a sense of something immensely powerful and evil focusing on him. He mentally called for help. He had not expected anything like this. He visualized white light surrounding him and heard the sound of angels singing. Gradually, the fear began to ebb. Paul could not determine what it was that he was frightened of. In fact, as he sat trembling in the car, he just recalled never being so fearful in his life. It was as if fear itself had taken on human or spiritual form as an entity in its own right.