Adam Blatner

Dear angels, helping me to be. There’s a platoon of them, some 25 – 35, I guess, though I don’t know. More than 15 for sure, less than 70, but they do have access to liaison angels, consulting angels from another sphere, and so forth. The great God-of-Everything-Becoming is way too busy being a billion galaxies and near infinite numbers of atoms and germs and some sentient beings and all in those galaxies, so I don’t call on personal attention from that source. I know I’ll end up dissolving into it all in time and beyond time and it’s none of my business. I mean, there’s nothing at all I can do about it, not even give it any meaningful thought. But if I’m a cell on the toe-skin of the Dancing Shiva Nataraj, then these guys (the angels) are my ankle bones. And in this analogy, the deeper parts of the spiritual essence, the legs, hips, heart, are so beyond the beyond that I can never ever know it.

So I’m apophatic, which means I voluntarily abdicate, consciously surrender, get very clear that I don’t know and can never know and, truth be told, I don’t really need to know. It’s enough that I do my part to help God be “born,” to promote the ongoing-ness of the Everything-Becoming.

But this is too empty. I need to have something to surrender into. My wife suggested this and I think she’s right—it seems right. So I pondered and what seems true now is that it is this complex of angelic beings, my teachers, my caretakers, those who drop grace on me, those for whom setting up these synchronicities—experienced as “coincidences”—is not a problem. I don’t know how they do it, but then again, when I was four, I had no idea what paid for the food that came into the house.

Then I saw the big Juniper tree out my back window blowing in the wind and saw “them” waving at me, and I realized that my mandalas are a schematic picture of “them,” a lovely tribute and celebration of what they do for me. Each angel is different and multi-dimensional—as am I, also, though that awareness only half-peeks-into my awareness. If I think with any wonder at the different roles I tap into and the depth of the unknown feeding into these roles—the singing and made up melodies, or dances, or whatever—the point here is they’re more than just “me.”

So: “Hi Guys!” I acknowledge that you’re there. I know little of what and who you are but I know you absolutely are devoted to my coming forth into this life. On the whole you’re amused and delighted by me, and sometimes you find yourselves figuratively rolling your eyes or glancing at each other with the “I guess he’s gonna have to find out the consequences of that desire (or attachment)” look. But it all feeds into my pronoia—the opposite of parania, the sense that you are trying to help me become a tiny bit more happy and enlightened. It’s good to know you’re there. I’ll celebrate you by doing stuff with making or developing my mandalas.

And as my wife says from her spiritual tradition is that all they really want is a bit of acknowledgment, and they delight in knowing you’re just a bit conscious of your relationship with them.