The Speed of Angels
Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite: The Celestial Hierarchy
“The name winds given to the Angels denotes their swift operations, and their almost immediate impenetration of everything, and a transmitting power in all realms, reaching from the above to the below, and from the depths to the heights, and the power which uplifts the second natures to the height above them, and moves the first to a participative and providential upliftment of the lower.”
Unlike the 5th century Christian Mystic and Neoplatonic philosopher, Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, I am not an expert on angelogoy and the celestial hierarchy. However, I can concur, angels are swift. I have been saved by angels at least twice. Probably more.
Firstly, by The Regent’s Canal near Camden Lock, which is a splendid place for gongoozling (the activity of watching boats on canals for pleasure). I was about fourteen years old, and, I’m ashamed to say, had been out thieving keyrings from Camden Market with a few friends (any gongoozling was purely incidental).
After our successful heist, we were relaxing by one of the canal locks, counting and comparing our treasures, when, two, rather scary men, mugged us! One used The Eyes as a weapon, the other swung The Belt in a rather menacing manner very much like a ball-and-chain. Although, in all honesty, The Eyes were much more horrifying. The chap with The Belt grabbed me by the collar and held me over the canal where a Dead White Staffordshire Terrier floated, all-bloated, in the murky waters below. He swung The Belt gently across my face, brushing my chin with the large metal buckle, while The Eyes took the small amount of cash my friends possessed. The Muggers didn’t want the keyrings fortunately, but The Eyes did steal my friend’s Zippo lighter which was particularly upsetting for us all. Such an object had a mythical status in those days amongst Catholic School Boy Smokers, of which we proudly represented. There are other details I could include, but I am eager to get to the angelic bit.
The Eyes, you see, announced with no degree of humour, and a-level-of-conviction that absolutely terrified us, that we were going to help him rob a shop. Indeed! And, I am not entirely sure how that was going to work in a logistical sense, but he was utterly serious, and we all knew it. But, then, out of what seemed like nowhere, a gang of American Homeless Men with ice hockey sticks and baseball bats mobbed them, and told us in their U. S of A accents to ‘get the hell outta heeerrrre.’ Of course, they were angels, as everyone in London knows: you don’t find American Homeless Men, and certainly not ones that just appear with American Sports Gear and an appetite for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Style Antics.
Their angelic nature was confirmed to me a few years later, when I travelled to India. I was alone when I arrived in Mumbai in the middle of the night with no travel guide (and before Highly Useful Hand-Held Content Providers) and only a vague recommendation from my brother to stay at The Salvation Army hostel near The Taj Mahal Hotel.
The rickshaw journey from the airport to The Salvation Army is an epic tale in itself, which included witnessing someone being run over, and a Holy Cow trampling over some sort of improvised barbeque food dispenser. The poverty was also unbelievably shocking and upsetting, so, it comes as no surprise that I arrived outside the hotel a little shaken, and in need of a cigarette.
After paying the rickshaw driver, I was immediately confronted by a homeless man with one leg and a pirate’s crutch. I found his appearance rather upsetting and scary, and so quickly marched to the safety of The Salvation Army youth hostel, forsaking my deep need for a smoke. But he was faster than me, which itself is a little odd; him being an emaciated man with only one leg, and me being surprisingly pacey for someone so scruffy. But nevertheless, he managed to block me off from entering The Salvation Army hostel and boldly offered me a cigarette. And although, I desperately wanted to smoke in that moment, very much so, I politely refused. But he was intensely intent, waving the soft-top-pack-of-smokes in my face. Indeed, it took me quite a while to realise that they were Thai Cigarettes, which was strange because we were in India. I knew they were Thai because I had just flown from Bangkok, which is the capital city of Thailand. I then, of course, realised that they were in fact My Thai Cigarettes. And the lighter he offered me was my lighter. And indeed, so was the wallet he dramatically revealed at the end of his incredibly impressive trick. He smiled in both a benevolent and stern manner, before hopping off towards The Gateway of India. Clearly an angel.
So, the good news is:
Angels are real.
And angels are fast.
Hallelujah.