Being and Angel…Wouldn’t it be the hyphen between Earth and Heaven, conciliation of irreconcilable, union of contraries, marriage of opposites? Wouldn’t it be what secretly inspires us, desiring a perfect and unattainable harmony?
Drunkenness and serenity, flight through the space, to the four winds, and silence of prayer. The Angel touching with his wings the divine beauty and the ugliness of horns and clogs of the Fallen.
What to say about the four faces of cherubims in Ezekiel’s vision, discovering their four gazes which never will rejoin, encompassing everything and coming from the One?
Double-beings whose bodies are not firmly delimited. Beings of Spirit, moving in a permanent round-trip between God and Humanity, between Daily and Sublimate. Always on the border. Eternal emigrants, in the impossibility to choose their ties. How much they look like us!
Placed during the events, whispering to our ears once the Good, once the Evil, where do they take their beginning? In a seagull, a snake or a starfish? Do they support pyramids or cathedrals?
Are they closer from the Deads or the Livings?
And nothing else that flapping wings for answer.
Can he order high and low tide? Does he slip into the trace of a shell carried by a wave?
He arose from the other world and whatever form he has appeared to me, he was scary. I tamed my angel, begging him to be, and so, to exist.
He owns the fragrance of Holiness and Hell. He inspired me so many dreams as nightmares but I asked him to stay, to sound this string, which is undefined, imprecise, which is 'between', and whose every existence cannot escape.
He orders us to destroy or surpass ourselves, and according to our sureness or our distress, we would allow him the place of a genius or a demon.
He does not advance with a mask that can recognise and tame.
Anywhere, God’s side, Satan’s side, he wears an amused look on our carnival.
And why not lean over the abyss?
Try to see his sneering or compassionate glance?
Is he whispering?
I am hearing.
But I’m whispering too…
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