This picture came unbidden: I had not been thinking about angels or anything
related to them, and yet here was this face--this profile portrait--of a
being made of and radiating light. Such a gentle face. Kindly. Bemused.
Happy. Enjoying whatever it was that she (or he) was doing.
I knew this was a picture and not a visit, because I had no sense of the
presence, the power, of a real angel. Nevertheless, I was intrigued and
looked to see what the angel was doing with whatever it was that she (or
he) was holding in his (or her) hand.
It was an egg--a small, white egg--with a tiny hole in it. The angel was
shining his or her light into the hole and carefully working with something
that looked like a soft crochet hook, trying to help the little critter
inside break out of its shell.
No force. No haste. Sublime patience and joy in the task. Light pouring
out in all directions from a vast, powerful, celestial being who was enjoying
the art of gently opening a little egg to help set a little creature free.
It crossed my mind that the egg was an ego.