The Feast of Angels
My very first, quick instinct was to send her my Guiding Spirit.
I cannot explain the exquisite feeling of losing something you are giving. I’ve had this feeling many times in my life; when the sudden and true thought is to let go of something or to give or offer something dear to me and the feeling of rightness in the thought, the truth of it is so undeniable that the after feeling of deep, deep sadness is tempered just a bit by the knowing of the divinity of the giving.
I felt this the instant I wanted to offer my dear, close and beloved Guiding Spirit to my sister Liz the minute I knew she needed Her more than I did in that moment.
I wasn’t certain that it could be done so I consulted my intuitive healer to ask and she cautioned me to be sure and told me that Liz would have to accept the exchange.
Several weeks later I felt this loving energy leave my field and I cried for days, tears of sadness for my loss and tears of bigness in the knowing I was doing something beyond me.
I wondered after Liz left us and returned to the Light if my Guiding Spirit would return to me. I haven’t felt Her close since I sent her to a bigger duty to watch over Liz and I wasn’t sure if she would steward Liz home or stay close to Her earthly treasure.
There is a special day in the Catholic faith for honoring Guardian Angels, it’s called The Feast of Angels.
A few days ago as I was packing to follow my heart to a pilgrimage that has been calling me for many, many years I heard a voice inside tell me to take the little crystal angel on my altar that I bought with my niece years ago on one of the many trips back to Oakland to be with Liz. This coveted angel has represented little Zana for years; she selected it in a shop full of shiny crystals and gem stones that we loved to visit together, and it has traveled with me and taken up precious space on my altar ever since.
Without hesitation I placed it in my little traveling altar bag along with a few other sacred trinkets and made my way to Saint Baume.
When I arrived in the Red House with a perfect view of Mary Magdalene’s cave from my room I felt an instant anchoring in my heart and began to answer the certain call to go. Into my pocket went the crystal angel, and I made my way through the magic of the Provençal forest full of fairies and ancient tree spirits that began to snicker and whistle and conspire with the sunray medicine and the wind spirits as they welcomed me and ushered me for the 45-minute pilgrimage straight up.
As the magic of the mountain began to fill me, tears began a silent stream that didn’t stop until later that evening.
I arrived to the cave just as a service was beginning, the chapel filled with high-school aged children singing like angels. Here, in this chapel carved into the façade of Saint Baume where Mary once lived, standing room only for a serendipitous first welcome.
I will never forget the gift in this lifetime of hearing The Lord’s Prayer in French, and the beautiful reminder that it is universal no matter what language the one praying is speaking.
This late afternoon, as the sun was quickly setting, the chapel went from full of spirit to silence within minutes once the service was finished, a stoic contrast full of palpable emotion that was not lost on me.
I intuitively found my way to the lower level, the place that called to me with soft mother energy and so much love where one of the many statues of Mary is surrounded by candles lit by hands of loved ones from around the world, and plaques I later learned of baby souls honored for their short time here.
It was here that I felt the instant call to take the angel from my pocket and place it at the foot of Mary along with all of the other offerings and prayers tucked in the the stone pockets which made an organic altar of blessings and reminded me of The Western Wall in Jerusalem.
And I felt that exquisite sadness again of leaving a treasure behind. This time with a knowing that I wanted a piece of Zana to live here in this sacred place along with the prayers for her mama and a constant lighting of candles left by mothers.
Two days later, in the same cave, the spirit of water blessed me right on the crown of my head as a drop of holy water fell gracefully from the ceiling of the cave and landed in perfect silence – stunned for a moment by the odds of such a blessing, I stood perfectly still hoping for a second one that never came.
From the cave on this day I made my way to the summit of the mountain where a very special chapel called La Chapelle du Saint-Pilon is precariously placed on the edge of the façade – and very close to Heaven. It is here that the angels lifted Mary five times a day to pray, for all the years that she lived on the mountain.
Along the ridgeline, on top of the earth’s spine, I was summoned with the wind spirit whipping and the ancient stones receiving the kisses of my feet with each footstep as I made my way to this holy spot.
Arriving at the chapel just before 4pm, the dear one traveling with me and I peered into the chapel and we quickly discovered the acoustics welcomed the urge to sing by accompanying us with a lasting melody – we played for a bit marveling at the angelic sound in this tiny chapel on top of the world.
This dear one's attuning reminded me of an Alexia Chellun song on the playlist I made for Liz, I haven't been able to listen to the song for a year because it reminds me too much of her - I found it on my phone and played it into the chapel as the walls echoed back and my sweet friend added her heart in chords; a soulful tribute.
As we made our way back out into the late afternoon sunshine a priest appeared from the path which seemed so strange at first glance, a mirage to go with the divine bliss we were feeling in the moment completing the perfect postcard we were in - until we learned that a real mass was about to begin.
A mass for The Feast of Angels.
The Feast of Angels happens on October 2nd every year (since 1883), once a year, and it is a holy day to honor guardian angels. And, every year a priest from the Dominican of Friars in charge of the chapels on this mountain makes his way to the summit to perform a full mass at 4pm.
On this day, my Guiding Spirit led me here to this holy place on this holiest day with the most beautiful serendipity that is indicative of the magical life I live in this incarnation – to say hello, to remind me, to reunite once again…just at the moment that I need Her the most.
I feel Her here with me, back with Liz’s blessing and love too, and I feel incredibly blessed.