It was an English estate.

I do not remember the year,

For the memory is a trauma.

He was rich, noble, important,

And he had a beautiful wife,

He was an ancient soul,

An angel

As was she,

And they had a deep connection.

She was beautiful,

Intelligent and sensitive,

She did not love him as a lover,

Though she did respect him,

And cared deeply,

She loved him as he was.

He loved her so so much,

But as property

He was a man’s man,

He always was.

She needed her freedom,

She found it wherever she could,

But this made him angry.

One day he took her out

To the wood house,

And chopped into her wrist

With a hatchet.

It was her right hand,

It did not cut all of the way through.

She did not lose her hand,

But she became disabled,

It healed well,

But was forever changed.

There was a horse,

A beautiful black stallion,

It was their horse, his horse,

But she loved it, and it loved her.

She nursed her way back to health.

And forgave.

Though her body remembered,

It was unavoidable.

She was me.

In my psychotic memory,

I can feel my wrist,

I can feel all my wounds from past lives.

I know this all happened,

In some way, in a past life,

It happened,

It was scary, and real.

Because of many lives lived,

Because of conflict and trauma,

The Angels are not fully realized,

Or united.

They are simply humans,

With many reincarnations,

And many, many painful deaths.

Lots and lots of suffering,

More even in this life,

More than the average human,

Though all humans suffer.

They could be realized,

If they worked through it all.

There is much to forgive,

And yet there is nothing to forgive,

For they are with God,

They are children of God,

And they are a family,

In the deepest sense of the word.

They are our family,

They are human and godly.

They sit at the top

Only because someone must,

But it is not always easy.

Someone must come first,

And they have been here

Since the beginning.

They are still just our brothers and sisters,

The archangels,

They walk among us,

More normal than you could imagine,

More human than seems earthly possible.

But we have memory,

As do all of the angels,

It runs deep in our selves,

In our human bodies,

Many reincarnations,

Amongst billions of souls,

All sacred,

All here.