Angels are strange beings. Born from pure mathematics, the subtle bending of spacetime, and a twitch of Source’s thoughts, angels long to understand human thought. It is beyond them, as far as the thoughts of the desert are from the rainforest.

When sent to watch humankind, an angel is first instructed to slow down their vibrations. One cannot mingle among Source’s beloved dirt as one is: they would burst like so many stars going supernova. Their atoms move too slowly, some angels find. It is as though they are trapped, and their spirits, swirling, burning masses of light and love and so much more than even angels have words for, glow resentfully beneath the prisons of their ribs.

Some angels attempt to free the spirits from what seems to be an untennable prison, a punishment. They appear suddenly before the humans in full glory, unaware of the burned eyes and ruptured souls they leave in their wake.

The mad babbling of the freed humans ia as music to their angelic companions.

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