by Ky Lehman
“Now when you look at me, you’ll always see my light behind the flesh. Well, I hope you do, anyway,” he says, grinning at my dunce expression.
“Oh, God! Really?” I baulk, thinking of how distracting and embarrassing this is going to be. I can’t ever imagine getting used to him looking like a walking sun with amber eyes and golden wings. Thankfully, he thinks I’m just taking the piss out of him with my grimace.
With him beaming at me the way he is, I can’t help but try and lighten up to match his mood. “I’m sure there’s a stellar nickname in this somewhere,” I say, mockingly scratching my chin in thought. “I know! Firefly! No, Glo-worm!” I call out, giggling as I remember him trying to break-dance at our year nine school formal, rippling, crunching and cracking across the polished dance floor like a worm with a spine.
He throws his head back and laughs, and with that familiar, hearty sound that has echoed throughout the ages, I am reminded that as an Archangel and as a man, his joy has always called to me on every level.
Suddenly and all at once, I see Mike in my mind, feel his fire in my heart, and his heat in my core. I gasp and sway at the sudden realisation of what this could mean, and without any planning or forethought, I open my mouth and in autonomic slow motion I say, “A house is just house until it is filled with love and light. It is then, and only then, that it can be called a home.”
In response, Mike’s sparkling eyes widen and his golden light glows brighter.
Holding me steady, his head pivots to the clock on the wall, then back to me, then back to the clock again.
“What? What is it?” I ask, starting to panic.
“We only have an hour before we have to leave for Georgie Pa’s, and I don’t want to get half way through this and have to stop,” he answers, seemingly annoyed.
“Half way through what?” I ask as my panic weirdly starts to morph into excitement.
“Halfway through talking about what is going through your head right now. Not to mention answering all of the questions that will, no doubt, follow,” he says, staring down the clock like he is willing time to stop.
“Huh?”
“You’re ready. You just said so yourself.”
“Ready for what? Hang on…what did I say?”
“The exact words you always say when you’re ready.”
“Ready for what? Stop talking to me like I know what’s going on because I can assure you, I sure as hell don’t!” I yell.
“That you’re ready to hear about your past…and why you keep coming back,” Mike calmly explains, even though I’m sure I’m working on his last nerve.
But that was just unfiltered babble! How can I judge myself to be strong enough to take all this on when I can’t recall feeling more vulnerable?
“Experience has taught me that it is best to strike while the iron’s hot,” he says with an expectant look.
I slump and nod, sadly acknowledging what he is really saying: that the best way to make things easier on him is to make things easier on me; that I have to stop being the main obstacle, and that in order to move forward, I need to get me and my ignorant self the hell out of the way.
Trying to steady my still wobbly legs, I widen my stance, take the hand he is supporting me with in mine, clear my throat and attempt to confidently say, “You know what? Tell me what you need to, and I promise to hold off on the Q and A until after we go and see Georgie Pa.”
Mike looks shocked, then uncertain, then amused. “Yeah, right,” he scoffs.
I squeeze his hand and say with the best poker face I can, “I’m serious.”
“Patience has never been your strong suit, Ren,” he says, his stern look emphasising how serious he really is.
“Yeah, I know. But, I couldn’t think of a better time to practice,” I say with all of the sincerity I can muster.
He assesses me for what seems like minutes we don’t have. Finally, he concedes, plonks himself down on the couch and pats the cushion next to him. I smile big, eagerly take my seat, and nestle into his side. He starts playing with my fingers like he always does when he needs to focus on what he has to say to me.
I look down at our joined hands to see the wispy tendrils of golden light emanating from his long fingers and his palms meandering and winding around and through my own. The contrast between his hand and mine is a reminder of how I have always measured myself to him.
Bright. Dull.
Light. Heavy.
Warm. Cold.
The hand that helps me up. The hand that pulls him down.
Up. Down.
Flying. Drowning.
Soaring. Sinking.
Up to Heaven. Down to hell.
Hell. Where those who have murdered thousands of our kin believed they were sending us. Mum and Nanna never believed in hell, and I have always agreed with them, but now I need to hear it from the Archangel-man’s mouth.
“Is there a hell, Mike?” I ask.
“Yes. Yes, there is,” he simply answers.
I pull back so I can look him straight in the face.
Holy shit. He’s not joking. “Oh, my God,” I say, breathless.
“God has got nothing to do with it,” he states.
“But isn’t God supposed to be the one who decides who goes up and who goes down?”
His responding chuckle is dark. “No, Ren. It doesn’t work that way, because the only place a soul can find themselves in hell is on Earth.”
My vacant expression shows him that I don’t understand.
“Because, in the absence of light, Earth is one of the few places where a soul can create their own,” he says. “Here, you can choose to either dance in the light or cower in the shadows, or settle for some place in-between.”
He gives me a few moments to think it through and goes on to explain, “See, Ren, many of us choose to come to Earth to forget. To get lost and find our way. The goal being to learn; to grow stronger; to progress. Are you with me?” he asks.
“Always have been,” I reply.
He gives me a warm squeeze with the arm he has draped over my shoulder and continues, “The place we all come from, and eventually go back to, is the source of all love and light. Like I said before, it is home to every soul.”
I nod in understanding: an understanding I have had since I was little. Although Nanna and Georgie Pa followed different religions, they both used to tell me similar stories about their own idea of heaven.
“It doesn’t take a soul long to realise that staying in one place can only teach them so much, and when there’s a whole universe out there to explore and be of service to, most of us want to jump right in. So, we keep an eye out for a place, a life, a path, that will either teach us what we need to learn, or will allow us to be of service using our strengths and our experience – kind of like a training ground where we can be the student or the coach, even though it usually works out to be both. And, when a soul discovers a life that suits what they’re looking for, they get out there, and, well, live.” After a brief pause, he asks, “Making sense?”
“Yes. But I’m not remembering anything yet,” I say, answering his real question.
He nods and goes on. “Since its beginnings, Earth has been a favourite for many souls. Its beauty, its potential, its problems...there are so many reasons. Anyway, those of us who choose to be born as an Earthbound soul aren’t used to being covered up and weighed down by matter, and with new, heavy bodies and different environments and natural laws to contend with, the light of home can become much harder to see.
“So, the long and the short of it is as the Earth turned, time clicked on and this world and its inhabitants evolved, people started to group together based on their similarities, and their differences. Those of us watching from above first thought that humankind were following their animal instincts and backsliding, but we soon realised that seeing themselves in others reminded them of their part in the bigger picture. Reminded them of home, you know? But, it didn’t take long for these groups to sec
tion off and for the little piece of the earth they claimed for themselves to become their priority. That, and the importance they placed on their possessions, or lack of them, further sent their lights into shadow, and with it, their memories of home.
“Souls arriving on Earth to offer their service to a divided world of increasing poverty, suffering, greed, and war ended up losing their light before it really had a chance to shine. Thankfully, some still remembered home, but the vast majority believed that the light was an unseen power they weren’t worthy of.
“It didn’t take long for those with the resources and a thirst for power to figure out how to fuel this false belief to support their own agenda. They promoted that the light was real, but decreed that in order for a person to gain access to it, certain rules had to be followed. Some agreed to these conditions. Some changed them. And some decided to come up with their own.
“The ugly face of fear had grown horns, but with it came new hope: hope that every man, woman and child had a shot at reaching the light. You were drawn to this hope, and that’s when you first came to us and said that you wanted to live as an Earthborn soul.”
Mike stops playing with my fingers, lays back his head and stares up at the ceiling. “At first, he was the only one who agreed to go with you,” he utters, quickly brushing away a tear he thinks I didn’t see.
Baffled, I ungraciously blurt out, “Why are you crying?”
He stills.
I prod. “Mike?”
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and says, “The rest of us thought it was hopeless. But Joshua didn’t. He believed, as much as you did, that with a bit of help, humankind could find their way out of the darkness.”
“Joshua? As in Joshua, Shoshanna’s husband?” I ask.
With a blank expression, he slowly nods.
Mental pictures of my first life as Shoshanna are, by far, the faintest, but coursing through their blurry lines are powerful emotions, both dark and light. Not knowing, unsure if I want to, but desperately needing to, my question typically spew’s forward unchecked. “So, is that a happy or a sad tear?”
“Honestly, Ren, it’s a bit of both,” he unflinchingly answers as his gaze shifts down to my mouth. His eyes stay fixed on my lips as his face slowly leans into mine. His mouth gets so close to my own, I can breathe in his long, minty exhale.
Oh, God…for the second time in as many days, it is happening again: I am petrified stiff, my face is on fire and the blaze is rapidly travelling south. I am terrified that any move I make in consent: which my body desperately wants to give, or retreat: which my head is half-heartedly rooting for, will be graceless and awkward, and one way or the other will completely change everything. A nauseating, squeaky little voice riding on the mother of all butterfly’s warns me that it will be for the worst.
I try to look away to give myself a few palpitating heartbeats to figure this out, but even my eyeballs are locked in place. But then I see the end of my nose, and I quickly realise that, to him, I must look cross eyed. This is mortifyingly enough to break my stare, but not the spell as I grow limp and heavy, falling back into another time, another world: straight into a tangled web of hot breath and limbs, blissfully unsure of where Mike ends and I begin.
Disappointed, I groan as my focus shifts to the soft, leather couch cushions beneath me, but I soon perk up when I see my shining Archangel-man hovering over me. But I can’t understand why I can no longer feel weight, his need or the wetness of his kiss.
“Ren?” he whispers, his warm breath brushing across my cheek.
“Mmmm?” Still floating, I keep my eyes closed.
“Are you still with me?” he softly asks.
I always have been. I always will be…
“Ren?” he whispers again.
“Yes.”
“Are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You had me worried.”
“What? Why?” I ask, throwing my eyes open.
“Um…because you fainted.”
“I…what?”
“You fainted,” he repeats, frowning. He gently places his palm over my forehead and searches my face like he’s looking for ten different kinds of crazy.
“Oh.” I say, staring up over his head, desperately trying to figure out if all that sweating, moaning and groaning was a dream or a memory, all the while praying that I wasn’t experiencing it out loud.
“Ren, are you OK?” he asks as his hand moves to his own forehead. He is berating himself and I’m not sure way.
“You’re upset. Why?” I ask.
“You’re overwhelmed. Obviously, I’ve said too much. I’m pushing too hard,” he says.
I baulk and choke on my own saliva. Coughing and spluttering, I beg for the Earth to open up and swallow me whole.
“Nooooo, you’re not,” I embarrassingly overemphasis. He still looks sceptical. “I’m fine, really,” I attempt to calmly say, still feeling the twinge in places his words were only partly responsible for.
I have felt crippling emotion before; both devastation and joy that have brought me to my knees, but I’ve managed to stay conscious. But since finding out about Mum being alive, I have fainted twice: both times when remembering an experience that filled me with so much emotion, it somehow overflowed and drowned out my consciousness.
Strong and ready? My arse. It seems that now my ‘mind is open,’ I am a vulnerable wuss who is prone to swooning. A delicate rose. Ugh…
But, if that was a dream I was having during that recent check-out, it was the most passionate I can ever recall having. And if it was a memory, it is the most connected to someone I have ever felt.
I’m not sure of what my face is relaying, but it is enough to send Mike hurrying off to the kitchen to get us both a cool glass of water. He helps me sit up, and as I gratefully take a few small sips, he gently rubs my back. “Better?” he softly asks.
“Much,” I answer, looking over at the clock. Now I am fully conscious and my thirst is quenched, my curiosity is back with a vengeance. “We’ve still got a bit of time, you know,” I eagerly point out.
“Yeah? You sure?” Mike asks, surprised.
I impatiently nod.
He quickly looks me over. “Well, OK then,” he says, seemingly convinced, as he sits back and invites me to once again settle into the crook of his arm.
Just like there was no sharing of breath, blissful fainting and hot-blooded I-don’t-know-what’s only minutes ago, it’s straight back to playing with my fingers and telling ghost stories. He thoughtfully resumes, “You know, Ren, one of the brightest lights imaginable is a love born in Heaven that is rediscovered on Earth. And, when Shoshanna found her twin soul on Earth, their conjoined lights could be seen from worlds away.”
I look forward to remembering what it’s like to look into the eyes of my other half and see the best part of me looking back. I look forward to remembering what I had with this man, Joshua, my husband and the father of my first Earthborn child, to relive the love we shared and to see if it faintly resembles the shaky notion of true love I am clinging to now.
“So, shortly after you and Joshua left for Earth and the rest of us decided to follow, we all chose to be born into families who remembered-”
“How many is ‘we’?” I ask.
“The first time, there ended up being nine of us.”
“Nine, including you, me and Joshua?”
“Yep.”
“So, that leaves six others.”
“That’s right.”
“Who are…?”
“Four were on the boat with us.”
“Four? I thought there was only three.”
“You were pregnant.”
“Right,” I acquiesce. “So, who are the two others?”
“I’ll get to that.”
Frustrated, I humph and cross my arms.
“Patience, Ren,” he firmly reminds me.
“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” I snap. I’m more annoyed at myself for postponing Q a
nd A time in the first place.
Taking my grumpiness in his stride, he continues. “Like I was saying, all nine of us chose to be born into families who remembered, and with all of us being raised in love and light, during the times we were all together, we didn’t need to convince anyone. Anyone with eyes could see it. Anyone with a heart could feel it.”
“See…feel what?” I ask.
“Home,” he simply answers and continues. “You and Joshua chose to be born into separate royal houses where you could be taught by priests and priestesses in both the ancient ways and the ways of the time, so you could help reconnect all Earthborn souls to their origins, as well as being a living example of the balance humankind was fast losing its understanding of. And, when the time came for the two of you to share yourselves with the world, you were both so enlightened, those who listened soon found themselves remembering home too.
“Word of a good thing always spreads fast, and crowds from far and wide came to hear the two of you speak.” He chuckles. “You soon ended up with a small band of groupies who followed you from place to place, and it didn’t take us long to adopt them as family. As if we had a choice,” he says, smiling and shaking his head. “They were keen students and we shared with them all we knew, and with their help, many souls began to find their way out of the darkness. This brought about change: change that started to even the balance and threaten the Master’s control.” His face grows solemn and he repositions himself so he is facing me. “And what would be the quickest and easiest way for the Masters to fix this growing problem of theirs, Ren?” he asks, testing to see if I remember the worst of it.
Sadly, I do know the answer. “Execution,” I growl.
“Yes. A very long and public one. And it worked for the most part too. Fear sent some into hiding, but most went straight back into the shadows.” He shifts in his seat and stares off into the distance. “But before the Masters had Joshua taken away to be executed, we all agreed that in order to protect you, your unborn child, and our friends and family who had escaped prosecution, we had to leave our homeland and quick.
