Many Impossible Things
‘Many impossible things must be known.’ How I love to say that! ‘Belief is winged, make yourself come true!’
If you can’t help writing about angels is it because they are really there? Sometimes they send birds ahead of you on the road to explain the obvious. Today they sent two pairs of chaffinches – perfectly formed, with their pink chests bobbing through the branches – ahead of me down the lane. I’m so glad I counted four, not three – a pair plus one would have been grief.
I believe the impossible. But I’m superstitious to write what I saw today unless I knew it yesterday. The heaviness of knowing that too many souls have lost the will to fly can weigh you down with seriousness. I do believe what the poem says, that there is no nugget of gold in the soul that is not carried by an angel to his God. It’s not just fanciful. The earth as we’ve known it is a rich mine of gold – seams and seams of it. This is what we call experience. But the moment comes when the earth changes, when time runs out. It seems to me that moment has come. Human beings are counted as mature. They are expected now to make their choice. Do they look into the earth and see the gold of the heavenly or do they choose instead to stand on the thin crust which is all that remains otherwise? The question is bound up with knowing the impossible.
I’ve overcome my superstition and set down my four chaffinches below. They talk about marriage. The sky is the veil, the earth the nest, time a new robe. And the band they bring, the golden Ring, has been around the world with them. It’s a New Age, which I’m happy to mention on this first day of the year.
Angels and Chaffinches
There is no nugget of gold in the soul
except an angel brings it to his God.
Too many souls have lost the will to fly –
but earth is a mine: gold in every seam,
and has no other story left to tell.
This new year makes a ring around the world –
go forward to the wedding or stay back.
There is no more allowance made of time –
without its gold, the earth is just a crust
with demons underneath, or so they say.
Many impossible things must be known:
belief is winged, make yourself come true.
Twin pairs of chaffinches danced down the lane
and pulled the sky’s blue veil over my head.
‘Will you be bride? Will you be groom?’ they sang
each to the other, and, ‘earth will be nest.’
All four together they lifted my arms
and clothed me in a robe of time, new-made.
‘The Ring is last, we swear to its true gold,’
and the band had been round the world with them.
‘Many will come, we know them all by name.’
Then four as one they slipped away through light –
if angels had walked there they’d look the same.
Best wishes, today,
©Jay Landar 2013. All rights reserved
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