It seems much of my impetus for non-fiction writing recently is my conversations with ChrissyTheHyphenated. In the combox for post Why a Rapture, I wrote of my dream about my someday-to-be-dog-friend, Anubis. As I wrote, I recalled another dream, definitely Revelations flavored, and featured a grassy hill. So, I’m gonna write about it, and then as a bonus, relate a funny dream that only Grunt and Lephael have known about until this point.
Dream 1: This was dreamed about 12-13 years ago. At the time, I hadn’t studied much at all in the way of prophecy (Christian or otherwise), but I dang well knew about angels, as angelology was a hobby of the time.
I’m standing on a field, the grass a bright, rich green. Bright like the sun is shining on it. The sky is dark and clear– not quite night-time dark, but I can see the stars in my peripheral vision. I’m looking at the horizon, at my eleven o’clock. From beyond the horizon, I see two fireworks shoot up and explode, one white, one red. The burning flecks radiate out, but instead of dissipating and falling, they elongate and grow brighter, becoming missile-like things headed right for where I (and others) are.
Somehow I know that they aren’t missiles, even before the unfurl/unfold. I know almost immediately that they are angels– the red are Seraphim (because Seraphim burn, yanno, so red), the white are Cherubim (because the cherubim–not putti!– are very intellectual sorts. Logic and Reason. Clear. White).
So, these angels come and land on the field, and line all us humans up into queues– one Seraph facing the head of each line, multiple Cherubim managing each line. I’m so distracted by all the angels all around (because Angels! Pretty! Shiny!!!) that I don’t pay attention to what’s happening at the front of the lines as we shuffle through. Before I realize it, I’m at the head of the line, with something coming right at my head.
On instinct, I lift my left hand to my forehead to block, and get a handful of sealing wax, imprinted with a design I can’t exactly remember. Part of the wax seal is on my forehead, but most of it is in the palm of my left hand. The Seraph with the self-waxing stamp gives me a level look as I mutter “Oh, crap! I’ll never be able to use this hand again!”
The Cherub to my right gently pats my shoulder with a somewhat rueful look. “It’s okay,” he says. “We all know who you are and where you go.” The implication is that I have something of a reputation among the angels, and that reputation is something along the lines of “Easily distracted, somewhat flaky klutz.” As I can think of far worse reputations, I don’t mind.
The Seraph huffs at the Cherub, and the latter points me to a hillside not that far away, and says “Your friends are over there.” I go, somewhat gingerly cradling my left hand, and sit down next to some very good friends of mine, who pass me a bread-basket full of popcorn. “We got good seats,” one says. “We’ll be able to see everything!”
End of Dream 1
Dream 2: I’m adding this because it’s funny and deals again with angels– or a rather specific one in this case. First, before we get to the dream, if you’re not familiar with Michigan J Frog, you need to be familiar with this:
The running joke with the frog is that he only ever sings in front of that one guy– if anyone else comes along, he reverts back to normal frog behavior. And then starts singing again when they go away.
This dream happened in late May of 2004– I was in the hospital, the first time I’d stayed overnight in a hospital, in the process of being diagnosed with cancer. I was not yet relocated to the “cancer ward”, still in the general unit with a roommate that was, I think, dying. I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on– they’d run enough tests to seriously alarm the docs, but the biopsy wasn’t to happen until the next day. But they wanted to keep me, because they were afraid that I’d slip into respiratory arrest at any moment.
So, being the amateur angelologist that I was, I knew that when you were sick or in need of healing, the number one angel to ask for was Raphael. He’s known a the Divine Physician, the Top Angel when it comes to Healing. He also has a reputation as being the “chummiest”, “most approachable”, and “goofiest” of the angels.
So that night, I finished out my nighttime prayers with the following: “And, God, if it isn’t too much trouble, and if he’s got a spare moment or two after his real work, and if it’s okay by You, tell Raphael he’s always welcome to come by. Even the smallest bit of help would be deeply appreciated. Thanks.”
That said, I snuggled down and went to sleep.
I dreamed I woke again in that same room, and in came Raphael, bright and shining, dressed in a tux with tails, and spats, and a top hat and cane and white gloves, singing that same song and dancing that same dance as the frog! Followed by all his Malachim helpers!
It was so ridiculously silly that I started giggling uncontrollably, and woke myself up I was giggling so hard! From that moment on I knew I’d be okay. It was something I couldn’t explain to the doctors or nurses, or even my distraught mother and father– though I did tell mom years later. I knew I’d be okay, because Raphael came by and made me laugh (it is the best medicine, after all).
And he seriously is the goofiest angel, ever. [Even keeping in mind that he whupped Asmodeus’ butt barehanded and locked him in the desert until the end of time. Mmhmm! He’s not one of The Magnificent Seven for nothing, you know!]
American Slytherin 