Katherine Belt

It was four-thirty in the morning when I suddenly found myself bolting upright after lying quietly in bed for half an hour, unable to sleep. I glanced out the window and was greeted by a streak of lightening flashing across the sky. Taking a deep breath, I leaned up against the wall my ran parallel to, and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it was as if I had been transported to another world, as if I left my body behind.

I glanced around, taking a quick survey of my surroundings, striking my foot against solid ground and noting the heavy drop off that lie a yard in front of me. I stepped back a little, afraid of heights and even more afraid of rocky ledges above raging seas. I stood still, noticing the sea was hardly roaring below me, but rather the waves gently crested rhythmically against the stony precipice. A fine mist managed to reach up and spray my face; I wiped it away once, but gave up after the third time. I thought to myself how odd it was to find myself here—I could have sworn I was lying awake in bed, but maybe I had drifted off to sleep without noticing? Maybe.

The sun was at that most precise point along the horizon where it is impossible to tell whether it is rising or setting—that single moment where life and death are indistinguishable, both the temptress and the leper. My breathing remained steady despite the fact my unaccustomed lungs felt as if they were on fire from the salt in the air. I imagined how beautiful this scene might make as a painting, as long as I substituted myself for someone else, maybe a young girl in a yellow dress to match the orange sky? That’s when I noticed I was no longer wearing my faded pajamas with the hole underneath the right armpit, but rather a lily-white robe accented in gold thread. The sun played off of the fabric, making it seem as if it cast its own warm glow. I subconsciously touched my head when I noticed there was an odd weight there coming from a simple golden circlet that seemed to melt into my hair with refracted light.

Let me pause to say that this was not the first time I found myself in an odd landscape, wearing this exact same outfit. My dream-self, spirit, astral body…whatever you wish to call it, was often getting dragged to and fro, whether it be to play tag in a field or to sit, making my boredom excruciatingly clear, in a meeting hall. I stretched my back and noticed I was lacking a pair of wings. Which I’m sure also sounds odd to you, but from where I’m standing, it’s a quite natural observation to make. Chances seem to run fifty-fifty that I sport a pair of large, feathery wings when I’m suddenly spirited away to only God knows where I stood right now, and have stood in the past. Note to self: don’t fall off the ledge.

There was someone standing behind me; I didn’t look back, I didn’t need to. In places like these, the natural energy we all shed seems to be amplified, so for an empath like myself it couldn’t be any less clear the identity of someone than if you plastered their name directly in front of me. This of course requires I’ve met the person before, and indeed I had met the one standing behind me, even if only in passing. It is always hard for me to admit his name because it makes me sound pompous and like a fool, but for the sake of accuracy, the angel that had slowly approached from behind and was now standing strongly beside me was the legendary and ever-popular Michael.

There is something very distinctive about Michael’s energy, the intensity and heat of it, the comforting presence yet stern edge, and that same slight hint of sadness that I had come to recognize and fall in love with; something several angels seemed to wear with the type of pride that comes from endurance. Today, it seemed the main thrust was a mixture of sorrow and hope; I’m sure to both match my mood and draw me towards where I needed to be. He stood beside me, gazing out at the sea just as I was; I forcefully swallowed back the tears that had begun to well in my eyes. In my peripheral vision I saw him glance at me, and it became even harder not to lose reign of my emotions. He smiled. We both gazed at the crashing waves aimlessly as he put his hand on my shoulder as if to provide reassurance.

“Why am I here?” I choked out, keeping my line of vision set on the horizon, “What am I supposed to do?”

“It is not the right time, but you will know soon enough.” His voice was both strong and smooth.

“Do you feel it, too?” There was no need to explain what I was referring to; the bittersweet taste permeated the air around us. It was a mix of longing, of nostalgia, of wanting to cling to what once was; and the hesitancy and twinge of hope that arises when faced with something new.

“Yes.” I looked at him then, his strong profile highlighted by the uncertain sun’s light, making the edges of his face shimmer to match the water. I had difficult time breathing as I tried to read his expression. He then turned to look at me, his face melting into a soft, warm smile. I smiled back, tears now streaming down my face as I dared to inhale the burning salty air once more. I gazed back at the sea.

“Why is it so hard, being here? Why doesn’t anyone seem to understand…why do I feel so alone?”

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