There is so much we don’t know. We have no understanding of how existence began, if there is a life after death, and why all cultures on Earth have an inherent belief in a Creator. We are lost in theories, opinions, and religions professing they alone have the truth.
We do know that there is right and wrong. All cultures and societies have created moral codes that mirror the teachings of religions. Good and bad are known to us all, even when people are isolated from any society. It is hard to deny that the concept of a Creator and a devil is present in our world, yet science attempts to define it as something that doesn’t exist — or that it can be explained. It can, but not by scientists or any human. Evil is something real, and it has one purpose: To destroy good.
I have a different view as I had a death experience when I was a young boy, I was officially dead for about 15 minutes, then came back to life. Although doctors and scientists love to dismiss such death experiences as synapsis’ firing in a last gasp of consciousness, they will never convince me, or the gifted and chosen people here who left their prisons — bodies — and encountered the Divine.
Rather than tell my story, I have written Angel, the story the Glorious One told to me when I was no longer here. I was with her.
I have no words for such Ecstasy, but she speaks through me in this wondrous book.
The Angel’s Scribe
What has always been is no more.
Sitting on what any who travelled such distance would deem the edge of all creation, Gloria sought no solace or isolation. From afar, the glorious one could see billions of lights ones not Knowing called stars. Knowing there was no end to such lights above, below and on all sides, she was far beyond thoughts of whatever infinity is, or called. Such thoughts belonged to ones never having a card game of chance with the Thought she called Father, just as her father called the Thought his Father. Her eyes smiling, she was the wayward child who confronted the Thought, saying the deck was stacked and the Father was skilled at slight of mind.
Tired of such dogged dogma, feeling taken, a rube, she took Wing and created a gust that sent playing cards flying, revealing they all had the same number. Ten. Later, telling Michael, her father, of her ire, he was impressed, revealing he had only reached sevens in the game. The Thought that made all things had high opinion of her, he proclaimed.
“Father. If you are proclamating, please, rise off the ground with your right hand up in the Knowing way. How can I know you speak true if not?”
Looking at him with complete sincerity, they each smiled, then laughed, then Michael took a deck of cards from a basket and threw it in the air, proclaiming he was as wayward as his daughter, but perhaps not as brave.
Such was a fond memory, and a fond memory was comfort facing all creation. All around were the twinkles made long ago, many with places where creatures roamed, played, cried, suffered, and sought a deck that was fair.
It had never been fair. Or, as the Thought had philosophized, perfectly fair.
Thinking most often the hand dealt to most held only twos, it was the most difficult game for any to play. Two states of being. Alive, or nothing. Happy, or sad. Hurt, or joyous. Respected, or despised. Important, or ignored. After a thousand years of listing the opposition pairs in a deck of twos, she came to the one that held the most trouble for her.
Good, or bad.
For another thousand years she thought of the bad, and how it destroyed the good. It was truly the most rigged deck of any. Speaking to no one and nothing, she closed her eyes in pain.
“Good has a line. Rules. Bad? It has no line. It is without end.”
Not banished, not denied, she left the place she called home to think of all decks played, knowing she would eventually think of the deck of twos. A full deck with 52 cards; every card a two. A choice of good or bad. Knowing that one such as her had no choice at all, she could only choose good. Yet the Thought held the cards close to the vest, saying that all were Graced with Free Will, and all had a choice. Even her, the supreme Guardian, the one who wielded the Blade that could send those bad, those evil, the ones choosing to harm the good, all such, she could send to nothingness.
“No, I can only strike if I am struck. Attack if attacked. Defend, never prevent. Where is a choice in that? What is Free Will if I cannot decide?”
Her wings rose up in straight lines, one leg rose up slightly, her Blade blazed in front of her lighting her form and revealing a majesty none other in existence had. Looking upward, she ascended without stopping, going faster than the light of the fires called stars, faster than a thing of matter could go, for she was not made of such stuff. She too was a thought, an idea, a wish, a hope, a thing beyond knowing to all but her father, her uncle, and the Thought. No longer able to include her mother, she was a thought no longer, cast to nothingness by her uncle, the one who must know her Blade. The one who had a choice, had made it, and chose to do wrong, never right with such gift.
Rising endlessly, there came a moment when she wished to understand what falling was to those who fell. With that wish, each feather of her wings flew away from her. They were light, and they left her in the darkness of the nothingness where none had ever dared go. Wings gone, she leaned back to stop her ascension, put her arms out to each side, her head back fully, her long blonde hair floating for a moment as she went from rising, to a full fall. Seeing the dark of infinity above her, she saw her hair rise to straight lines above her from falling down, down, not caring, not thinking, not Knowing. She left all that was thought, just feeling the fall and nothing more.
Beyond time that could be counted, she continued to fall, thinking only once.
“With no thought, nothing matters.”
In time, how long she cared not, lights once again appeared, surrounding her, now only streaks in her Vision, blurs, and nothing more. Then just as quickly, the light ceased, and darkness returned. Crossing to the nether side where none had ventured, she thought once more.
“My uncle made a choice. To be here, where none would go.”
Thinking of the Fall, the eventful day she lost her mother, she knew soon she would be where those who fell with her uncle had landed, followed by her father to rescue them. Now, the nether place would know his daughter. It was a fall through all existence, taking infinity to hit the place called rock bottom in rumors and legends. The Thought had given it a name.
It was her uncle’s domain, the one he chose to fall to, taking others with him, telling them they had a new home. A lie. Her uncle was the deceiver. He fell only to have her when she was but a child. A young girl trusting all those she knew, including her uncle. He created the hell, the pit, the abaddon, all that is horrible only to have her. His lust. His craving. His sickness. His perversion. His insanity. All that is bad, made by him to have her to satisfy his sickness. He impaled her mother, his sister, because she fell without taking her with. It was on that day, hitting rock bottom, denied his craving for a child, that he transformed into hasataan. He never stopped his desire for her, but on this day, she would fall and hit rock bottom.
With that thought, she crashed into blackness hard and cold. She landed in her uncle’s home.
Touching the rocks, her wings appeared once more, blazing in blinding light, the Blade in her hand. Crouching, ready to strike, eyes blazing blue beams of Divinity should any evil come near, looking at the depraved souls surrounding her, all cowering with fear, she spoke.
“Uncle. The Sweetness is here.”
Her voice, not a sound, a trumpeting torture to the minds of the fallen ones and the minions, the lost, the depraved, the ones who never fell but sinned to join the hasataan, caused screams of agony in the endless cavern that held no comfort except suffering, but the light from her eyes, her wings, blinded them, making them blinder than they had ever been, for they could only see the dark of evil, not the blaze of Glory that she offered. Like she thought them lost, they thought the same of her. Rock bottom was their forever home and she did not belong there. Hearing mutters of despair, she cast the blue rays of pure light from her eyes on any who made such sound, striking them down in terror, sinews once hands covering the orbs that were once eyes. Slowly, they backed away, forming a large circle around her, hoping she would never look their way. Seeing them was not the reason she was there and paid them no further attention as she shouted once more.
“Uncle. I have something you must have.”
Rising out of the black granite in front of her, a shape rose and took form, the form changing from black rock to the form of the evil that was once beautiful, once Graced, once cherished, but now still beautiful but hideous as she saw him as spirit, not just form. His white sheath was now black as the cavern. He stood in a shadow even in the blaze of her light. Knowing he was both Lucifer and the demon hasataan, he sought not to repel her or battle, but to act as he had once before the fall. Gentle, calm, hands open in welcome, a soft smile on his face. Under the form she saw his true nature, and it was not smiling and not beautiful. It revealed lust for her, his tongue licking as if deep inside her sacred places, his eyes locked on the space between her legs as she stayed crouched, legs apart, covered only in gossamer. His tortured skin was sweating from seeing what it craved for so long. His whole form under his guise was shivering in lustful spasms, and she saw the serpent appear, looking at her, forked tongue out making licking motions, eyes locking on hers as it began growing. It existed for one reason. Her. To enter her, take her being, and consume her Grace to give majesty to Lucifer. He was a dark that craved her light. A wanderer who saw her as his home. Looking at her, not hiding his need to enter her, eyes feasting on her entire form, deep into each part, rolling over the curves and down into her shadows and mysteries. No other being was beautiful in his Vision, only her. He had given all he was to have her and had been denied.
“Sweetness you are. We both know what Joy you offer and that only I deserve it. Gloria, I have given all I was to be in Union with you. Do you not understand what I have sacrificed to give you my Joy?”
Watching his serpent grow, it was past being controlled for it had a mind of its own, yet existing only to serve its master. It was the vile creature that entered her mother the time of the fall, rising up through her taking her heart’s joy, her hope, and her faith. Taking her very being it stuck its slithery head out of her mouth, licking her juices from its face as Lucifer, as hasataan, sent the serpent slithering in the air, displaying Ethereal, her mother, as its conquest for all to see and to learn the power of the serpent. It was the first act of such evil any in all creation had ever known, and the moment that changed good to bad, joy to sorrow. He took the soul of Ethereal for no reason other than to strike ire in Gloria; to have her come to the darkness to avenge her mother’s fate and there in the abaddon be feasted on.
“No, uncle. Your mind is corrupt. You take Joy, never give it. You took my Joy for you took my mother, your sister, the one who loved you. I see your serpent. Know this uncle, if it hisses once more, if it does not shrink back into your soulless form, I will use my Blade to cast it for your minions to feast on. My Blade is true. I am here to strike. I will start with that sick thing you made.”
Making no sound, the serpent recoiled and as if never there, gone.
“Sweetness, it meant you no harm. I exist only for you. I know you want the serpent. To take it in you and be master of it. You are the only one it will not consume. It is to pleasure you, nothing more.”
Without a word, Gloria rose, letting the wings float above her, forming a circle of light shining on her alone. Still holding the Blade, her gossamer faded away, leaving her naked and showing her perfect form and beauty. She floated in air, naked, the most beautiful in Creation as her beauty came from within. Her form and being were identical. She circled once for Lucifer to see all of her, then faced him, staring into his eyes now smoking and showing flames inside his pupils.
“This, uncle, is what you shall never have.”
In the next instant, she was clad in crystal armor, even more erotic to Lucifer for she was a sight to behold like he had never seen before.
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