The Angel in My Dreams

Growing up, I remember hearing about angels in bible stories. Men-like beings who came to earth in a time of need or to deliver a message. In pictures, they stood tall, masculine with white flowing gowns to match their ashen flowing hair. They were quiet in God's presence, soft-spoken and direct in ours. Not verbally passionate--that was God, himself.

 I knew they existed in my mother's prayers and kept me safe from the dangers she thought I was in (and possibly rightfully so). They gave me comfort, but to be honest, I didn't give them much thought.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I spent months of research trying to figure out the best way to be a parent and even just have the baby. My now-ex and I opted for a more natural approach, and where we couldn't afford a midwife, we were able to afford one midwife's hypno-birthing classes. In general, I'm not much of a fan of hypnosis. A skeptic, rather. I also tend to stay away from substances that take control of my mind away from me. And I might have some level of anxiety. I was curious, though, and liked the basic approach of mind over matter. I had heard birthing was painful, maybe this was the best way to breath through the pain, or block it out lucidly.

Hypnobirthing is only semi what it sounds like. I had to explain this to my mother and quite a few others with concerns about occult fetishes. It is a breathing technique that is not much different from medication. You think of a happy spot. Whatever that means to you. Something that relaxes you. Maybe it's a beach, or your family's log cabin at Christmas, or your child's laughter while it plays with the dog in the sprinkler out back. A place you can visualize that makes you smile. While your eyes are closed, visualizing this happy place, the midwife soothingly walks you through a series of verbal cues to relax your body and mind, eventually ending in you being so relaxed that you can only see and hear (and sometimes smell) whatever exists in your happy place. You can't hear or feel the world around you, helping you to ignore the pain of childbirth. In retrospect, you probably should hear so you can pay attention to the midwife or doctor's cues while in labor.

I tried for days to figure out what my happy place was. Camping with friends in the mountains? Repelling into a dark, watery shaft to catch campers as they repelled down to me? Flying in an airplane, any airplane, going anywhere? But what would help me feel so relaxed, take my mind off of everything around me so I could block out the impending excruciating pain?

I have always been a silent pray-er. I think. At least more and more-so as I have gotten older. I speak with God quietly, personally, intimately. I speak with him in my head, as the friend he is and has been to me. I have felt closer to him sometimes more than others. The times I haven't sensed his presence or his answers, I can start to feel lost and panicky. During my pregnancy, I cried out to him a lot. I needed support, understanding. Life hadn't been easy for more things than just pregnancy symptoms. He was always there, he was still my rock.

In this hypno-birthing class, I was forced to close my eyes, and think about a place that gave me peace. I struggled to find a place...but I found a who. Finally, with my eyes closed, I could see Him. Always in the clouds (very cliche, I know), he met me there. Calm, reassurring, peaceful.

I was never able to fully release myself from the world around me to slip into this daydream that would protect me from the pain of childbirth. I struggled with not being able to let myself go enough to achieve that humanized peace that I knew I was going to need. But I loved my happy place all the same. I felt like to could take a step back from the world and just breath. I felt protected. I felt loved.

While my focus was on God and our conversations, in the background, but always present, was an angel. Not tall, or necessarily flow-y. Though to be fair, I can't say what God looked like either. A man, for sure, but not grandiose. My focus was never on his looks, but on the conversation, the feeling of peace. But the angel was always there, just visible from behind God. Probably never in exactly the same place. He never spoke, he never needed to. The conversation wasn't for him. I was honestly unsure why he was there. Understanding, maybe. I assumed this angel was very much attached to God in these meditations. I honestly didn't give him much thought.

The birthing came and went, successfully. Still painfully, but I was told they were impressed with how I managed it. I didn't necessarily need this happy place after the birthing, but I found I kept finding it. Searching for it at times of need. Happiness, sadness, relief. It became part of my silent prayers.

Over the last few years, as life has shifted, as my prayers have shifted, and through the phases of feeling God closer to me at times than others. I started to cry out more, asking why I couldn't feel him. My attention was drawn to a figure, standing there as if he had always stood there. My angel. I seemed to slowly recognize that the angel in my previous encounters with God, was in fact not God's assistant, but mine. Always waiting, watching, quiet. I knew he was more active in my life than my brief prayer sessions, I could feel him working at times. Sometimes in fervor with me, sometimes in frustration because of me.

But here he was now, standing before me. Not in God's place because God wouldn't or couldn't be there. But because he was always there, and God became a voice instead of a body. An essence in the distance, reminding me He was still there, still close.

I wasn't sure how I felt at first, just me and my angel. Would it still feel the same? Could I still approach my silent prayers the same? But when I closed my eyes, and went to my happy place, I found that the angel and God's words and presence were enough. I didn't even need the clouds anymore. It just became space. Not dark, not light, just....space. I found comfort in seeing my angel there, knowing he was God's connection to looking out for me. I also started paying more attention to my angel. I still could not make out his exact face, but he was a warrior, muscled and toned for battle, clothed in something I have never been able to make out, cloth or light perhaps.

Sometime last year, I felt my angel move. Not away, just a shift. Instead of facing me, he was standing, or rather sitting....hanging(?) just to my left. Facing out in the direction I should be looking. Still there. Still quiet. Still engaged. I have no facial details of my angel, but sometimes he turns and looks at me. Sometimes I can feel his hand on my shoulder. Like my personal guard in some swashbuckling movie of knights and kings, where I am the princess. I feel more empowered. Like we can take on the world together, even when I go there to cry.

Earlier this spring, I lost someone who was special to me. I have lost close friends before, and it feels harder as I get older. I was particularly devastated when losing a close friend to suicide a few years ago. My happy place, friends, and therapy helped. ...this time felt different. He hadn't been just a friend, and it had been complicated (as dating with baggage and children is), and had ended some time before this event. As I struggled to figure out how to grieve, what hit me to the core was that when I went to my happy place, my angel was also grieving. I couldn't tell at first because he was looking away. He wouldn't look at me, his body turned away. I felt almost lost....I needed comfort from God and my angel. I could only barely make out God's presence, though His voice kept saying it would be okay. ...but my angel would not comfort me. I tried to understand why. I have had so many questions about this death in our world...now I had questions about death within the spiritual world.

After a week or so, as my body and mind calmed, so did my angel's. He still wouldn't look at me, but he reached out to me and took my hand, almost like he needed it as much as I did. I understood....we would walk through this together. Over time, as I have healed, so has my angel.

During our vacation this summer, as I was heading to a trail run, some song came on my car's playlist. I felt my angel feel happy. When I went to him, I saw him dancing. Like some late 90's computerized avatar, he moved to the music, smiling for maybe the first time I'd actually seen. I smiled for him. In that moment, I felt....okay. Like maybe things would turn out alright with this world, no matter how sad they can be at times.

A couple weeks later, at a concert some friends took me to for my birthday, I felt him tapping. God was tapping. When I shifted to my happy place, my angel didn't want me to look at him, but was looking ahead toward a light. In the light were two figures. One I knew was God's. The smaller figure, though hard to make out, was that of the man my angel and I had grieved over, standing with God. God seemed to want me to notice the man also, to make sure I knew he was alright. The man had his own message, that he was okay, that I was loved, that it was time for me to move on. I didn't want to hear the message. I knew it meant an ending. Spirits and ghosts in this world or not, I had felt him at times, and I wasn't ready to let that go. I wasn't ready for him to leave others, like his kids, either. We needed more time. But they insisted. It was time. My angel took my hand, God and the man turned toward the light to leave.

These days, my angel is still there. More relaxed, still ready to take on the world. Still quiet, still engaged, still with a hand ready if I need. I don't know how real angels are in real life. I know I believe that, with God, they exist. I'm aware how I view my angel has more to do with my active imagination than whatever the reality is, but it's enough for me. ...these days, even though I still can't say exactly what my angel looks like, on some days he reflects aspects of the man I lost. And though he is not mine to have as an angel (his kids, siblings, and parents deserve that), I am comforted that maybe his spirit may still think about me.