Dionysius the Areopagite in the 4th century pointed to nine distinct choirs of angels, each a level miraculously incomprehensible to the stage of Being just below it. And the guardian angels are only but the ‘lowest’ and closest to the humans of these nine…

did you choose me
or was I assigned to you
in primeval misty doings
far past the rim of my recall
or did we materialize
organically linked
condensing out of a vapour
you the stem and I the berry

I salute you, mystery Being
with a gratitude insufficient
and an empathy feebly mortal
you who carry aspects of me
I am yet unable to holster
and who shelters all memories
my dullard senses cannot summon
suffered in judgeless objectivity

do you weary of your mission
in the paltry trickle of my advance
do you wish I could purify faster
and not bake in another life’s folly
do you hope for your own promotion
a condition still more exalted and luminous
and do I daily incur greater indebtedness
when your sacred hints elude my unready heart

_______RS

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