The Holder of the Light

It was storming, a southwestern monsoon. The rain had been coming down in layers not drops since about 4 PM. The streets were mostly rivers. The light show over the Black Mountain was breathtaking. One could not tell where one thrum of thunder ended and the next began. It was a perfectly relaxing night for me. I knew I would sleep well – I always do when there’s an electrical storm. My insomnia would not be bothering me – or so I thought.

My brain has a most annoying habit of waking me at 2:28 AM regularly -- no matter what time I fall asleep nor what time I rise in the morning. 2:28 comes, and I’m wide awake nearly every night. I envisioned sleeping through the night without my brain’s clarion call. I lay down that night and let the sound of the rain and thunder lull me to sleep naturally, fully expecting to stay in that state of relaxation and repose.

2:28 AM – eyes wide open. “Oh what the hell,” I thought as I rolled over to my left side to see if a change in position would let me just go right back to sleep. The motion led my eyes directly to the edge of the ceiling where it meets the wall over the window. There was a glow there – one I’d never seen before though I’d slept in that same room for over two years. As I watched, the white, dull, throbbing beams began to take on delineated edges. It took on a nearly human shape. Its hair was long and flowed as if there were a breeze blowing on my ceiling. The face began to take shape also. It was difficult to distinguish whether the features were male or female – too soft and comely for a man, too sinewy for a woman. It was draped in gauzy robes, wings visible over the shoulders and extending to each side at the hips. The robe also wafted in a wind I knew was not there. There was a soft glow undulating around the entire image. I was not able to take my eyes away from the vision. As I stared, the image raised its right hand from within the robes and reached toward me. In that hand was a glowing orb, sending soft rays of white light around my bedroom.

Trying to not move too much nor to take my eyes off the figure for too long, I glanced quickly at my digital clock. It clearly showed me in inch and a half tall numerals that it was well after 3 AM. Over half an hour had elapsed, I know not how. My mind told me only a minute or two had gone by, but the clock was proving me wrong. I looked back at the place where the ceiling meets the wall and nothing had changed. There was my pale vision, hand held out to me, ball of white light glowing, hair blowing out behind its benevolent visage, wings folded behind it and robes still billowing in an imaginary draft of air.

I kept thinking that there must be a puddle of water outside my window and that light from a streetlamp was reflecting off its surface to illuminate my ceiling in this odd fashion. I watched the image closely, looking for changes. There were no more. I kept trying to determine what else could cause it. I wondered if a neighbor had a light on that normally was dark at this time of night, if someone were in the parking lot with their headlights on, or if there were children playing with a flashlight next door. I went to the window and looked out. There were no lights on anywhere. I went to the switch on my wall and flipped it. Nothing happened. My clock was running on its backup battery. Our power was out thanks to the storm. I went to the bathroom and lit a cigarette and a candle. I sat down on the toilet to think. Before I’d finished my cigarette, I went out on the balcony to have a look around. The power must have been out in several blocks and the moon was hidden behind the storm clouds. It was dead dark. Since the rain had cut back to a light drizzle, I grabbed a light coat and went out and down the outside stairs to have a look around. There was nothing unusual except the lack of light. I went back upstairs, locked the front door and stood in the living room, afraid to go back in the bedroom, afraid that the figure of light that shouldn’t be there remained.

The clock! It threw off a green illumination.

I threw my coat over the arm of a chair, ran into the bedroom, took the clock off the shelf over my bed and hid it under the covers face down. My friend was still on the ceiling, still presenting me with a radiating sphere. I collapsed on the bed, face down. Hesitantly, I rolled over to contemplate the shape on my ceiling where it meets the wall. I lay there, staring, ‘til dawn.

There is nothing more radiant than the sun rising after a strong storm has washed the air clean. However, it was not enough to rid me of my intruder. My alarm went off at 8:30 AM. My work day didn’t start until 11. I went to the kitchen, started a big pot of fresh coffee brewing, knowing that was all I had to depend on to keep me awake for the day, and took a shower. Without boring you with my whole morning routine, I’ll just say that I got dressed while watching the illumination that wouldn’t fade or move. The last thing I did before leaving the house was to say good-bye – might as well be polite.

That evening, when I arrived home from work, my new friend was gone. I immediately revved up the computer and searched the internet for information on Angels.