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It was not the first time he had been lifted high into the sky. It would not be the last time either,
but something was different about this experience. He was resting in mid-air, perhaps ten meters above his body,
and on a soft, full-length, transparent cushion, it seemed. That was not his way. He tended to zoom around at great
speed, skimming over rivers and lakes, twisting and turning, and darting straight up to enormous heights—weightless,
and never at rest.
This was different. He was not quite weightless, but he was motionless.
Only hours before, the industrialist had retired early, disgruntled, emotionally devastated. He had requested the
Great Master of the universe to take charge of his life, or alternatively make him wake up quite dead by morning,
and at no specific time. The hour of his demise was left to the Creator. Life no longer mattered to him. In his
dark forest of despair, not a single light was glowing. The professional problem solver had been hit too fast, too
hard, and far too often, by the seemingly insolvable.
He had truly given up.
The many who attended him, knew him better. They knew that, generally, he tended to have fun. They knew he played
all kinds of stunts on unsuspecting people. They could not let him depart without liberally giving him back in kind.
Although he didn’t know it yet, he already was a student of the Midwayers, and they would never let up confounding
him from that day onwards.
The Midwayers took control of his mind, entirely. They made him get out of bed to switch off a light that wasn’t
burning. They made him flick the switch up and down, but stopped him from realizing they had cut the power to that
electrical circuit. But the Midwayers’ rookie student normally never bothered with light. He could sleep anywhere,
at any time, and within seconds. Even on a beach, in full sunshine, he could be dead to the world in no time at
all.
Having realized he could not repair the supposedly broken switch, since he brought no tools to the venue where he
was staying, there seemed no other option but to take the light bulb from its socket. They made him climb up on
a little table to get rid of the annoying light bulb that inexplicably bothered him. And he raised both arms to
reach for the globe. That was precisely what they wanted him to do. They lifted him high, and deposited him on his
soft, downy pillow, like parents lift a child and bed it down. But they could always claim he had assisted them
by raising his arms.
It was important for him to realize he was going somewhere. His body was left standing on the table, seemingly on
life support. And as he looked down through his pillow, and many concrete floors, he considered the body that was
only vaguely his own. It was a useful, carbon-based life form, he thought. It was probably the equivalent of around
two large buckets of water standing up on end, he felt. It resembled a made-to-order clothes rack. All kinds of
people were making all kinds of clothes. He knew that. And many layers of these clothes could be put on that useful
rack. They would never get wrinkled on that functional shape.
Momentarily, he felt concern for that clothes-rack body becoming cold. Whoever was in charge might allow him to
go back down to the body, and cover it with clothes. He might well be carrying the clothes in his outstretched arms.
Did he have some clothes, or did he not? His head had sunk deeply into the pillow. His eyes, also, would not move.
He needed to bring his outstretched arms into his field of vision to see if there were clothes in his hands. He
moved his arms. There were no clothes in his hands, but he knew his body would be fine in the great Golden Flame
that surrounded it. It would be warm when he came back. His hands touched something… Someone. And the big wings
of his “Pillow” surrounded him completely. The vision of his body was gone.
The lightning fast Seraph whisked away with her new payload.
The Midwayers could have simply “blotted out” all aspects of the trip. They were masters in the art of
waylaying anyone’s mere human mind. But they did not want to do that. They wanted him to know he was on his
way. But above all, they wanted him to look back on the journey, knowing they had fooled him every step of the way.
They knew he liked fun. They, too, played tricks.
© 11:11 Progress Group.
Toujours au Service de Michael.
11:11 Angels
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