The Angel & The Man


It was a dark day for the angel, he had been commanded to observe the realm of mortals which, from his prospective, was a bland and monotonous land where lived man that was nothing more than a speck of dust. It was extremely boring for him to watch the petty humans fight like little girls and as the day grew darker and darker, the extents of boredom increased and with it, his annoyance towards humans.

In the last heated hours of his watch, the angel overheard some mortals chatter about the superiority of men, about how man is greater than angel. This fueled his rage and the angel decided the best course was to correct the mortals and not necessarily in a polite way.

As soon as he neared the bunch of ungrateful fools, they dispersed into their homes and a sole man remained in the street also retreating with fading goodbyes and by mien he could be judged as a sage and an educated man. The angel, exaggerating his anger on humankind, spooked the man by making himself suddenly visible. The man, surprisingly quickly recovered and with two steps backwards concluded the only choice left to him was to talk because at his back there existed a stone wall and the angel looked not as if he would let him run.



Do you see a man, a king? How he holds his court like a god! How he speaks like an angle! How he commands like a Master! How can this earthly form of dust and flesh become so great, so commanding that millions of its kin may stand before it in veneration? In submission? See not look, O mere mortal! What you behold before your eyes is not a coincidence; this is man, this treacherous beast, this unjust creature, this mere effigy of dignity, this molding of clay, this…this piece of diamond and do you see how he dies? How like a man he dies! Dust! And nothing more.


Perception, O Angel! Perception. You see to look, not look to see, this molding that you behold has a soul inside, this treacherous beast has love in its heart, this unjust creature has fairness in mind, you see not what lies inside. You see kings and you see slaves but do you see what lies in their hearts? You know not the nature of man who seeks with every breath surmounting of perfection. You have perfection, O Angel, but not perception, your eyes are blind to the truth. You roam the sky and soar the heavens but not look upon the ground. Your life is bland, O Angel, for you see not its end yet all life shall die, it is engraved in stones eternal.


Blind?! What takes form before my eyes is truth, I see men being wronged by men, I see blood red streams mingling with rivers, I see flames in eyes so pure, I see the truth for it is bitter, you see the lie for it is sweet. What else is perception if not the essence of truth? What else is truth but what eyes can see? What life is there for you, O Man! You cannot even perceive its shade. What splendor can life hold for you when you die before it ends it dance? Nature of man?! Bah! What nature can hold for so vile a beast? You are a fool if in this you believe.


Amongst you, O Angel, there is no desire, there is no want. My seconds hold more beauty and taste than your longest hours. You cannot will to laugh or cry yet even in misery do I have freedom; I can wish; I can want while you are bounded by chains unseen. Of the essence of truth, you dare speak when your eyes cannot even perceive truth’s entire form? Tell, O Seraph, what place has joy in your perception? Where is freedom? Where is love? You give reality a thousand flavors but I have no knowledge of taste, I merely see reality for real, whatever may its taste yet you persist to judge me by my tongue.


You have no tongue for how you speak! Know this, O Fool! I do not judge but merely see a bunch of fools around a chair dictate how a man should live! You call this freedom? The right of choice?! I am better chained than free like you. Ah! my ears are hurting by listening to you! What even is perfection to you?


You see the scene but with one eye closed, lawless creatures are beasts unfree for laws are not chains but mere guides. I am not chained for I can still decide. Your unbalanced perception cannot perceive my world’s balance. You ask me, Immortal, the question of perfection? But how can I, a mortal, choose what is perfect and what is not? Afore me there exists no perfection, I am a warrior in war with my self.


Warriors are those who have a cause, you merely dream of candies and crowns and your crooked thoughts are fruitless and empty. Your chains are death but Death is a peaceful end for you, I have something else for you! You call my vision flawed?! So tell me what you see.


O Angel, what mistake have you made? What wrong have you done? A garden devoid of weed is unworthy of praise, for when it knows no demise, how can it know life? In my garden you see just weeds and not the lovely flowers, so how can you claim your vision to peer mine? I see both love and its inverse, I see light and its absence, I behold a world where balance exists yet you contend with unbalanced claims. In darkness not often a candle is perceived yet it glows. If you see chains where I see freedom, then what can I say to you?


Corruption spreads, O foolish Man! What once was single, is now manifold and beside its shadow even your flowers turn dark yet darkness does not know itself to be dark nor light knows itself to be bright. I have had enough of this, you are blind to my eyes and I to yours. But before I depart, one thing is certain, you are a fool to welcome death. Save me, O God, from this fool!


Bah! Death is just a pause for me through which I may rest without the fear of wrong or right. The stature of life matters not, what matters is the act we do in the life we have got; your pigeons may touch the highest skies but it’s mine who fly further. Go now, O Angel, to your recess and leave me to my own.

The angel retreated with no backward glance but in its heart the truth had sowed its seed and was now maturing; man was greater than the angels. His converse with the man had turned its claws on him and forced him into believing the bitter truth.

The Weaver

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