One of the many reasons I enjoy my subscription to SiriusJoy astrology is the short reminder texts I receive throughout the day to help me align to the energy of the day. Today’s evening text was:
Snuggle up and baby yourself tonight. The more you pamper, the stronger you will be tomorrow. Invest in your rest. Sleep Intention: “I Am Stronger”
I got hit by some kind of bug passing through my entire system and although I have so much to do … so much that I want to do … I decided to take it easy, nap, read a mystery novel, stay off the internet, and take care of myself. The affirmation of pampering myself was sweet to receive.
No cards today, no challenges, no suggestions other than that you consider pampering yourself as well. Even the smallest thing makes a difference. And, to keep you company – a poem from Billy Collins – it’s my favorite of many of his poems.
Questions About Angels
Of all the questions you might want to ask
about angels, the only one you ever hear
is how many can dance on the head of a pin.
No curiosity about how they pass the eternal time
besides circling the Throne chanting in Latin
or delivering a crust of bread to a hermit on earth
or guiding a boy and girl across a rickety wooden bridge.
Do they fly through God’s body and come out singing?
Do they swing like children from the hinges
of the spirit world saying their names backwards and forwards?
Do they sit alone in little gardens changing colors?
What about their sleeping habits, the fabric of their robes,
their diet of unfiltered divine light?
What goes on inside their luminous heads? Is there a wall
these tall presences can look over and see hell?
If an angel fell off a cloud would he leave a hole
in a river and would the hole float along endlessly
filled with the silent letters of every angelic word?
If an angel delivered the mail would he arrive
in a blinding rush of wings or would he just assume
the appearance of the regular mailman and
whistle up the driveway reading the postcards?
No, the medieval theologians control the court.
The only question you ever hear is about
the little dance floor on the head of a pin
where halos are meant to converge and drift invisibly.
It is designed to make us think in millions
billions, to make us run out of numbers and collapse
into infinity, but perhaps the answer is simply one:
one female angel dancing alone in her stocking feet
a small jazz combo working in the background.
She sways like a branch in the wind, her beautiful
eyes closed, and the tall thin bassist leans over
to glance at his watch because she has been dancing
forever, and now it is very late, even for musicians.