“If you see a Class V demon on the street, what are you going to do?”
It hit me right at that moment. The beautiful and nimble grandmother of Cherokee blood had just called me out in perfectly magickal terms. This Being who for the past day had erased my ability to think with my feminine brain with every action she took, every word she spoke, and every gesture of subtle energy which I in my ignorance could hardly even detect. I understood why she was a he and her name was Michael. An Archangel had come to teach us, to be with us, to talk with us and share with us.
“Are you a slayer?” Michael looked at me knowing the answer before he even asked. Pouncing on a golden lynx, nimble and supple as a cat in his own right, which seemed completely ridiculous in the robust and Aged to Wisdom Body Michael had chosen, just another stroke of Divine Humor which couldn’t help itself, a mere side effect of being an archangel acting in 3d.
You couldn’t talk to Michael using your cognition. No, it was required that you use pure dreaming. Magnified by the Cherokee traditions coursing through the blood of the host, we were on a shamanic journey and falling into each others trance. Michael befriended me because I loved him openly and joyfully. And what treasures he provided for me, unlooked for by me, and still as yet largely incomprehensible. The seeds of an Archangels wisdom and transmissions are fully realized in the moment and yet extrapolating themselves exponentially over an unfolding time I can now pass along as if by a silvery chord and thread.
He wants nothing more than to slay demons, the forces of impurity, always. Creatively expressing himself, and using his incomprehensible vision to describe to us our past lives, the wounds and trials we faced; before bidding us to extract the trace, the karma, the demon … undoing us all with gestures and improvisations completely profound. Around the ritual fire, as we prepared the ad-lib ceremony space, Michael was playing with his electronic lightsaber. He had brought 5 items to the altar to consecrate, charge, and link the energy. The most interesting of which was of course the lightsaber. He brought a spaceship helmet as well. Who are we for even a second to question the same being who donned the robe of a crone, and so easily doled out fractal pieces of the Graal, as long as you were willing to accept a treat from a strange old crone that is …
A silver blade, and a golden blade, and a book of ceremonial initiation. The hum and vibration of these 3 particular ritual artifacts was somehow and inexplicably connected to the rhythm of the earth herself. A rhythm you could hear in Michael’s walk, and a rhythm he could teach you to feel simply by connecting you to the last ceremonial objects he brought with him. Not on the alter, the sixth and seventh objects were a Cherokee Community Drum, and an Ivory chestpiece. Completing a circuit of forgiveness between the trail of tears and the illuminated initiates who first came to develop our great and beautiful country. Michael’s particular manifestation in this part of time having the dual effect of healing the deep strife left on the land by the mistakes of the primitive men who nonetheless seeded and founded these great United States.
He lectured me on internalization of symbols, on making real, and bid me approach the Templar blades. He asked me to choose one and pick it up. I liked how pretty the silver blade was, so I took it up in my hand, unsheathed it, and performed some basic ritual movements, feeling its beauty. Then Michael asked me to pick up the golden sword. I was shocked to find that when I touched it, a vibration coursed through my forearm … and as I unsheathed the golden blade I understood the intention behind the lightsaber. I could almost hear the sound of an energetic phasing powering up when that charged blade was released from its scabbard into my hand. I looked at Michael and he addressed me sternly, “now tell me when you are going to stop waiting and step into the lead. Someone must lead”.
Michael was getting ready to depart when I met him. And indeed, he has not decided still whether or not he will stay. But we certainly asked him to. To stay and fight with us, against the many faceted and many headed and many wiled demon which is the ultimate calamity against humankind. In fact he came to train us so that he could go on another adventure … to places and planes of existence barely contemplated against or looked for, or required for the magnum opus of humanity. Angels may have functions, but the broad scope of their dominion is still in many ways and in some sense far beyond the bridge nature of humanity.
It was after midnight, at the feasting and the drinking after drawing down the moon. He looked at me, I was already happily and perfectly drunk. “If you see a Class V demon on the street, what are you going to do?” He wanted to go demon slaying of course, right now, after dinner before the dessert was served. The champagne had lit a glorious passion in his eyes. He stood up to speak, but could not be heard over the din, and happily did not use his real voice to get our attention. Instead I struck the brass of the ritual chalice, which sent out the vibration and tone of the ritual energies themselves and silence fell about the room. I may not be slaying demons with Michael tonight, but at least I can open the ceremony for him!
“For know that it is better to fall on my blade and perish than to make the attempt with fear in thy heart! How will you enter the circle?” … it was only M and I who raised our glasses in a resounding and boisterous cry of “With Perfect Love and Perfect Trust!!”. And Michael had the ritual space he needed to slay demons. And as I took my favorite position to be in; quiet, sitting, imbibing alcohol and quietly pondering a job well done; the full realization settled in on me.
The Archangels are here among us.