On a winter day in 2010 I rescued a buried angel. She was beneath a heap of scrap metal in Tucson. Her wings caught my eye. They were not the delicate, translucent wings I had always imagined. They were wings of steel. Solid and strong. And they glistened.
From that day, I have been blessed to uncover and discover extraordinary angels. Each exudes personality and is expressed in a combination of textures, colors, and rare finds in nature.
My angels are messengers of love and hope. They guard and protect.
My angels are symbols of peace and joy. They are healing angels.
They are servants to the soul.
My life was disrupted on August 9, 2011 when I underwent surgery. A thyroidal mass threatened my ability to breathe and swallow: to sustain life. Following the procedure I was sentenced to rest, and held hostage to pain and immobility.
I awakened that first night to the agony of a swollen, bruised and tender neck. Rather than resign to the discomfort, I surrendered to my spirit: that part of me that resides within, that defeats negativity, that inspires creativity, that heals all wounds.
Intuitively, I was compelled to channel this energy and give it form. What emerged was an angel. A physical, visual and spiritual expression of faith, courage and healing.
This Healing Angel was delivered on August 10. It would have been the 54th birthday of my late husband, Michael. He is aptly named, Miguelagro.
Miguelagro paved the way for a barrage of angels. A squadron of healing messengers. Their job was to invigorate, to activate strength and hope, to squelch isolation and to embrace possibility.
My job was to create and incarnate.
Along came September. The pain and bruising and swelling of my neck had diminished, and only traces of that invasion were visible. Seven healing angels hovered. Not enough to counter the emotional ambush that awaited.
I received news of a sudden tragic loss. My newfound serenity vanished and was replaced with grief and fear and loneliness. The horror disabled me and the echoes of my pain detonated in the lives of those closest to me.
No amount of words or hugs or hours could console me. I had been here before. The pain was intolerable.
I surrendered to my spirit.
A battalion of angels responded.
A day to remember, mourn, honor the victims of tragedy.
A day to celebrate freedom.
A day to unite with our fellows.
It was my day to assault grief. I had the spiritual artillery and received the divine command.
The result was my first weapon-wielding angel.
She defends and protects.
Exonerates and forgives.
She transcends pain.
Her name is thus, Gabriella.
Gabriella led a revolution and a revelation. She enlisted a platoon of angels to conquer anguish and despair. She shines a light that extinguishes darkness and illuminates color. With fearlessness and faith erupted beauty, simplicity and peace.
I discovered some items missing from my home. Further investigation revealed the disappearance of something irreplaceable: a necklace, given to me by my late husband.
I was wounded by the shrapnel of sentimental objects. My memories escaped without injury.
Attachment to things.
Shackles on my spirit.
Another angel soars.
Wednesday October 5th.
My best friend, Becky, must make a choice for her Mother. Her Mother is on life support. Machines breathe for her, feed her and manage her pain.
We said prayers by her bedside and Becky signed the order...the document that releases the prisoner from the planet.
We held each other and witnessed the miracle of transfiguration. Her Mother drew her last breath. Her body expired.
Her spirit ascended.
An angel awaits.
A literal and figurative "lump in my throat" spawned the creation of a body of work. A body of Healing Angels. A body both tangible and invisible, of available, powerful and ever-present healers of the spirit.
Circumstances may inflict pain and grief. And yes, may even puncture my spirit. Ultimately, it is my response to them that defines my character and my faith. These Healing Angels announce my response.
Death will one day capture my body.
Nothing can seize my spirit.