Coffee with Angels

When I turned 21 my mom gave me a reading from a Los Angeles psychic. The woman said, “You were born under the hand of Yod (‘finger of God’) and you will always be surrounded by angels.”

What’s strange is that I am surrounded by angels. I’ve collected angel art for 30 years. My home is filled with angelic iconography in the form of paintings, sculptures, candelabras, vases, lithographs, woodcuts and shrines. My wife Gabrielle is named after an angel. I’ve photographed angel statues in cemeteries and outside churches. I love movies about angels such as Wings of Desire, It’s a Wonderful Life and Jacob’s Ladder.

I wrote a screenplay about angels. It was titled Malakh, the Hebrew word for messenger. Angels are divine messengers of God’s light. They’re powerful supernatural beings capable of interacting with humans. Their job is to serve God, to subjugate their own free will to fulfill God’s bidding. The moment they make their own decisions apart from God’s will, they become fallen angels (aka demons).

In the Old Testament, angels often appear as humans without wings. Hebrews 13:2 reads: “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” In the Book of Daniel 8:15, the angel Gabriel appears in “the likeness of a man” to warn Daniel of coming wars and future kingdoms. Daniel’s left feeling weak and trembling.

When angels interact with humans, they often shroud themselves in cloaks. The artistic depiction of angels with wings arose in the Byzantine era (330–1453 AD). They were often genderless and dressed in flowing white robes. Some angels appeared in the sky inside fiery wheels (“ophanim”).

Old Testament angels induced reactions such as fear, shock and wonder. They weren’t cute (like Cupids) but terrifying in appearance with multiple eyes and animal-like countenances. The prophet Ezekiel described angels as having four faces (human, lion, ox, eagle) and wings covered with eyes (Ezekiel 1:1–28). Isaiah perceived Seraphim (the highest order of angels) as accompanied by fire with six wings, two to cover their faces in awe of God, two to cover their lower extremities and two to fly (Isaiah 6:2–7).

Old Testament angels were intermediaries between God and man. In the New Testament, Jesus becomes the prime mediator between God and man. Angels take on the role of serving humans at Christ’s decree.

I’ve known several people who claimed to see angels. A college friend lost her mother in a car accident. Afterwards, she claimed angels visited her in her dreams and one appeared beside her mother’s grave. Another friend battled heroin addiction, overdosed and nearly died. He told me that as he lingered between worlds, he was ministered by several angels urging him to stay alive.

In 1993, I took a road trip with my best friend and roommate Lee. We drove through Phoenix and came across an angel boutique filled with angel-themed clothing, paintings, statues and jewelry. The store offerings were kitschy and tailored to old ladies. But the proprietor caught our notice. She was a vibrant woman in her 40s with blonde hair, deep blue eyes and a life force I could only describe as intense. Upon seeing us she said, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Huh,” I replied.

“The two of you. Gabriel told me you were coming.”

“Gabriel,” Lee asked uncertain of her motives. “As in the archangel?”

“Yes,” she said. “He wants you to know God approves of what you’re doing. And God sent Gabriel to help and protect you.”

“What is it exactly that we’re doing,” I asked.

“Would you like to go for coffee?”

She closed her shop and we followed her down the block to a coffee house. We sat at a table in the window and ordered lattes. The woman told us her name was Seraphina. She then related her life story from a failed marriage in Albuquerque, to several DUI’s, to a stint in rehab, to finding herself homeless on the street.

“That’s when Gabriel first appeared to me,” she said. “It was late at night and raining. I was in a park under some trees trying to sleep. Suddenly the sky lit up as if it was the middle of the day. I went from shivering cold to feeling warmth all over my body. I looked up and saw a bright tunnel of light. In the middle was a winged being in a white robe. I felt male energy but the entity was not a man. The being emerged from the tunnel and approached me. My whole body filled with love. Not romantic love but the love of a parent for a child.

“I asked the being, ‘Who are you?’ He said, ‘I’m Gabriel.’ I asked, ‘Am I dead?’ He smiled. ‘No. God sent me to give you a message. He wants you to know He loves you. And that you have much work to do in this world. It’s time for you to stand up and step into your new life. Are you ready,’ he asked.

“‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m ready.’ That was 10 years ago. I’m now 10 years sober, I have a nice home, a successful business and a life purpose. And the angels are still with me. Gabriel told me to open an angel store. I did and it’s thriving.”

She smiled and sipped her coffee. Lee and I were unsure what to make of her. She asked if we had questions. Lee went first.

“You said you knew we were coming. And that God approves of what we’re doing. What is it we’re doing?”

“You’re both messengers of light. God wants you to know He supports you and he’s appointed several angels to watch over you. They’re with you right now.”

“Where,” I asked.

“Right next to you. I can see them.”

I pointed toward a fat guy sitting behind us.

“Is that one,” I asked.

“God loves your sense of humor but He wants you to know it’s time to get serious. The world needs you.”

For the next hour we talked with Seraphina. The writer in me was fascinated by her beliefs even though I found her to be eccentric and off-kilter. We gave her our number in Los Angeles and told her to call if she were ever in the area. She laughed.

“What’s so funny,” I asked.

“I should have known you live in the City of Angels.”

Several months later, Seraphina called to say she was in Los Angeles. Lee and I invited her to stay in our rented house in the Hollywood Hills. She showed up with her boyfriend, a shy and quiet German guy named Klaus. They ended up staying a week in our guest bedroom. Each morning when I awoke, I came downstairs to find her in the kitchen making breakfast. I plied her with questions about angels before going to work.

“Are angels with me right now?”

“Yes.”

“Can you see them?”

“Yes.”

“How about demons. Are they around?”

“Yes, but I don’t see them as much anymore.”

“Why?”

“They no longer have a hold on me. Gabriel and Michael shield me with their light.”

I told friends we had an angel lady staying with us. They came by to speak with her as if she was an oracle. They asked questions about relationships, dead relatives, job prospects. I came home one day to find several neighbors I’d never met in our living room waiting to consult Seraphina. Klaus nursed a coffee in silence reading a Raymond Chandler detective novel.

On their last night in Los Angeles, we invited Seraphina and Klaus to a party hosted by our landlord Michael. Michael was a 1970s-era rocker who’d become a prominent rap and hip-hop producer. Like Seraphina, Michael claimed to be able to see angels. His houses were covered with gold-painted terra cotta angel statues he’d purchased in Mexico.

The party attracted a rock ‘n’ roll crowd. Revelers drank alcohol and smoked weed. Seraphina sat quietly on the living room couch, hands clasped together as if she were praying. Klaus continued reading his crime novel, unbothered.

Michael imbibed too much alcohol. At one point, he stumbled in the living room knocking over a lamp. He fell on the couch next to Seraphina. He gazed up at her and attempted to kiss her. She pushed him away, a look of fear on her face. He closed his eyes and passed out. She rose from the couch and walked outside. Klaus followed.

I joined them and we walked back to our house. I asked Seraphina if she was okay.

“You need to stay away from Michael,” she said. “He’s in trouble.”

“He has a drinking problem, that’s for sure.”

“It’s not the alcohol. It’s the traveling companions.”

“The what?”

“He’s circled by demons. They’re trying to kill him. One of them is Azazel. I recognized him from my days on the street.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s a fallen angel with strong demonic power. He teaches humans to embrace vanity until their life crumbles and they harm themselves. Michael is under his thumb. If he’s your friend, you need to help him.”

“He’s our landlord,” I said. “I don’t know him that well.”

“You should warn him. But be careful or Azazel will go after you as well.”

Seraphina and Klaus drove back to Arizona. When I next saw Michael, he came by to collect rent. He had a beer in his hand and was in good spirits. We spoke about his party. He acknowledged he drank too much but he had a good time. I asked if he was okay with his drinking.

“What do you mean,” he asked.

“When I left, you were passed out on the couch.”

“Eff you, I didn’t pass out.”

“It sure looked that way.”

“Sorry dad. I’ll try to behave better next time.”

My effort to call attention to his drinking fell on deaf ears. A few months later, Lee and I moved to a new place. I lost touch with Michael though he and Lee remained friends. In 2009, Lee told me Michael committed suicide. I thought of Seraphina and her words about Azazel and Michael’s imminent danger.

When I think of the people I know who claimed to have seen angels, they have something in common. They were going through a difficult period in their life. My college friend was grieving the loss of her mom, Seraphina was homeless, Michael was battling addiction.

This makes sense. If we are in fact surrounded by angels, maybe we only see them when we’re vulnerable enough to let our guard down. I’m not aware of ever encountering an angel. But I do feel the presence of pulsating energies around me.

In my early-20s, I suffered from depression and suicidal thoughts. In 1987, I made a halfhearted attempt to take my own life. I drove on Mulholland Drive at high speed with the intention of plummeting my car over a cliff. I pressed the gas pedal to the floor and came within 200 yards of Dead Man’s Curve. That’s when I heard a sharp declaration from the back seat. An unmistakable male voice said, “Don’t.” I took my foot off the gas and slammed on the brakes. I skidded toward the curve and barely stopped before driving off the mountain.

That night’s a blurry memory but I’m still certain I heard a voice. For years, I rationalized this voice as my own subconscious manifesting a primal audible command to stay alive. I still consider this the likely explanation. But could that voice have been an angel? Could it have been God? I don’t know. It’s possible.

As a teenager, a stanza from Pink Floyd’s song “Comfortably Numb” resonated with me.

 When I was a child
 I caught a fleeting glimpse
 Out of the corner of my eye
 I turned to look but it was gone
 I cannot put my finger on it now
 The child is grown
 The dream is gone
 I have become comfortably numb.

I’ve always felt there’s another world just beyond the periphery of this one. When we’re young, we’re more wide-eyed and open to possibilities. As we age, we become comfortably numb. We create a barrier around ourselves immunizing us from encounters we can’t understand.

When my father was ill with lymphoma, he began seeing visions of spiritual beings in his living room. Two weeks before he died, he said he saw a tall, cloaked figure summoning him. He laughed about the experience, joking this was the Angel of Death. A few days later he died. I felt a sense of peace knowing angels were with him to accompany him on his final journey.