Prologue
“Remember to welcome strangers into your homes.
There were some who did that and welcomed angels without knowing it.”
(Hebrews 13:2)
The ocean has moods. Today she was a magical mystery, Phil decided. Like the Beatles’ album: a Magical Mystery Tour. The sky was restless with feathery streams of clouds high above. The morning sun burned through pockets of fog turning them into glistening but momentary radiance. The surf was undersized, inviting the novice surfer to derring-do.
Phil paddled on his custom board past the line where waves broke and joined Becky, his surfing partner. They pushed themselves upright to sit on their boards and search the sea for the perfect wave.
Both wore shorty wetsuits. Phil’s was black, and it form-fitted his mostly in-shape, fifty-ish body. His face was tan, hair receding, still brown but graying at the temples. Becky’s wetsuit was black with blue contrasting stripes. Her blonde hair was short, and her green eyes were bright with enthusiasm. At one time she was nationally ranked as a surfing competitor, and her love of the sport, the ocean, and the laid-back lifestyle were evident.
Coming from shore, another surfer hand-paddled to them. Wearing no wetsuit against the Pacific chill, his blond hair reached his shoulders. A boyish, handsome face soon beamed at them.
Phil’s long face got longer. “Manuel. What are you doing here?”
Becky turned, squinted her eyes and exclaimed, “I can see him.”
Manuel rotated to sit his board, “Of course you can. Shamans walk in two worlds, and don’t you forget it.”
Turning to Phil, the angel asked with an innocent smile, “You wouldn’t believe it’s a friendly visit, would you?”
“No,” Phil smirked. “I’d believe you’re here to announce a disaster in your world, or create one in mine.”
Manuel was an archangel with whom Phil was linked. They figured God had wired their brainwaves together so that anytime Phil meditated he appeared in Manuel’s patio. Manuel concluded the only way to get Phil out of his patio was to teach him how to navigate the dizzying array of levels and plateaus in the world of Spirit. This project had been ongoing for some time. Phil’s adventures were harrowing, unpredictable, dangerous and completely unsettling to the simple faith he started with. All Phil’s fundamentalist convictions were overturned by now, and, with Manuel’s appearance, another calamity was imminent.
Manuel shrugged off Phil’s pessimism and smiled at Becky, “How’s your shaman training going?”
“Good,” she beamed back. “I’m also taking a Zen meditation class at the college.”
“Got a spirit helper yet?”
“No. Do I need one?”
“Agrat is there for you. She told me to remind you.”
“Oh, yeah,” Becky said as the excitement turned to apprehension.
In their last adventure, Becky helped free Agrat from an ancient curse. She and her sisters, Lilith, Echidna, and Eisheth climbed out of their forced exile to remake themselves in the churning politics of the seven heavens.
“And she’s partly why I’m here,” Manuel added.
“Have things settled down?” Phil inquired.
Manuel gave a short barking laugh, “Not at all. I won’t bore you with the details, but the upshot is ‘so below, so above.’ Jehovah is threatening another breakout. Yahweh is redecorating his compound to accommodate Lilith in his teaching hall. The dark angels are about to depose Sammael for Abbadona. The Sarim are deadlocked over what to do. And so on.”
“Sounds about right,” Phil grinned. “What do you want with me?”
“Actually, it’s both of you. They want you to visit with Moirai.”
“Who?” Phil frowned.
“The Fates,” Manuel frowned back. Apparently, Phil’s ignorance fell into the ‘stupid’ category, Manuel’s pet peeve.
“I remember them,” Becky chimed in. “They’re Greek. Three women who spin a person’s fate on a loom.”
“At least one of you has a clue,” Manuel grumped. “The idea is once Moirai gets a handle on your destiny, we’ll better understand what kind of change you’re a catalyst for.”
Phil glanced at Becky, whose face clouded again. Then he asked the angel, “You mean both of us?”
“Both of you. Her connection to Agrat -- the whole death/rebirth thing -- pulls her into it. Besides, Yahweh likes her, and what else? Oh, yeah. She zapped Eisheth and lived to tell the tale. Michael liked that. Bottom line, she’s become a part of the catalyzing process.”
Becky’s face showed embarrassed pleasure. Gaining recognition from a mask of God, another archangel and Agrat’s sister was a heart-warming tribute.
Noticing her pleasure, Phil provided the downside, “And she’s made an enemy of Jehovah, Sammael, and who knows how many others? Can’t we leave her out of this?”
“My argument exactly, but all her enemies pointed out she must be held accountable for the consequences of her actions. Without her, your last commission would not have been completed. She’s part of it now -- sort of a co-catalyst.”
Phil groaned, “I’m sorry, Becky.”
“Don’t be. I think I was born for this. God knows I sure wasn’t born to be successful in the white man’s world.”
Manuel laughed, a sound seemingly accompanied by a string quartet. “You’ve got spunk, kiddo. Maybe you lack the good sense to recognize a bad situation, but you got spunk.”
Phil perked up, “Bad situation, how?”
“Read up on Moirai and you can determine it for yourself.”
Then the angel disappeared. In the sudden vacancy, Phil saw storm clouds scudding across the horizon. He wondered if Manuel put them there.
