Satori Angel Night by Author Brian Michael Barbeito

It was a long time ago I spoke to the angel. It was on the way to Pompano. I was wearing blue pants and a white button up shirt. How I disliked getting dressed up. The man driving eventually left his wife and kids and ran off with a girlfriend. He bought a sports car but it got repossessed. I guess he really just leased it. I was in the back of a 1980’s van. No seatbelts though they were there. I don’t think they had seatbelt laws then in that state but don’t know. No drugs. No drink. I mean, I was all of ten. We had gone far, to the opening of a restaurant, and were on the way back. I had no expectations of anything. No books or religious thought or anything. Who cares about any of that? We just swam in pools and oceans. All of a sudden God or an angel or a holy invisible white fire of grace descends, out of nowhere. It envelopes me and speaks not in words but in a language impossible to impart. Something extraordinary is happening. But I know I am in the regular world also. The girl beside me senses something is happening. Maybe females are intuitive. She puts her hand for a moment on my arm and says, Are you okay? I say, Thanks, I am fine. Then she goes back to whatever,- maybe looking out her window. How did she know something was happening? This thing- the canon and literature is full of such instances, hundreds if not thousands,- goes on for about twenty minutes,- maybe even thirty minutes- and those are conservative estimates. It shows eternity and wisdom but not worldly wisdom. It says that all things are taken care of. It is powerful, but not in a showy way. It’s like love, but is not love. It is more like knowledge- but knowledge not of an engineer or scientist or academic or even poet or musician. The angel is a grace and electricity from maybe just past the astral, like God’s coat tale or a part of God’s back yard lawn or a stone from the yard of Source. It’s a good souvenir. It’s better than a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, seashell, summer romance, or picture postcard. ~~~~

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