Ben H. Swett
Holloman AFB, NM
November 1968

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.

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