February 24, 2019
For several weeks, now, we have all been dealt serious blows coming from many different quarters. We have all been buffeted by the winds of fear. We fear not just for our Beloved’s family due to renewed threats to his legacy, but also for our country’s political stability in a time of unstable administration, extreme climactic conditions – from flooding in California to snow in the northwest and Las Vegas (for heaven’s sake) as well as the northeast. It feels like we are being victimized by a many-pronged attack and we bounce from fear to stability with dizzying rapidity.
In addition, I have been toying with an idea for many weeks, but hesitating to implement it, because I didn’t want my regular readers to think that I was minimizing any of the above fear-causing situations. Then, this morning, one of the first things I saw in my social media was the following advice:
I am taking it as a message from the universe.
I, for one, need an imaginary interlude. However, this imaginary interlude is going to be a little different from previous ones.
In previous Conversations, many of my regular readers have read brief allusions to a story I wrote nearly twenty-five years ago entitled Angelique, penned during a time of extreme challenge to our Beloved’s legacy shortly after the 1993 allegations, but have never really been introduced to her.
That is about to change. The writing of this story offered me comfort at a time when comfort was fairly hard to come by; removing my focus from the fear and redirecting it to a more healing state of mind. It has been updated periodically and has continued to comfort me in each of the successive crises, when the same kind of accusations were being wielded by the journalistic profession, during our Beloved Michael’s trial and transition, and during the trial of the man responsible for that transition.
It is my prayer that, once again, Angelique will distract me and all of us from all the things that are causing us to worry and fret and redirect our power to love and healing, despite the world’s best efforts to divert us from our goal.
So, fasten your seat belts, readers. “We’re on a mission for the Everlasting Light that shines … a revelation of the true enchantment of our minds.”
I invite you to meet
Angelique
Chapter One
Michael sat quietly in the Concorde as it winged its way towards Paris. His discomfort at flying, a cross he had borne for much of his life, was somewhat relieved by the shorter, near-the-speed-of-sound flight of the sleek, streamlined, heavy-nosed airplane. The seats around his in the spacious, first-class cabin were occupied by his entourage to avoid his being hassled by autograph-seekers and Michael’s thoughts were chaotic.
He was excited to finally be heading towards his lifetime’s ultimate destination, the stage that was even now being erected in Prague and whose caravan of semi-trailers should have arrived in Budapest. He gave a moment’s thought to hoping it was going according to plan back on the ground, then shrugged dispassionately. After all, there was little he could do about it now. He had to rely on his road crew, most of whom had collaborated with him before and knew how involved he liked to remain in all aspects of his stage shows.
With Michael’s anticipation and excitement, however, memories of crushing humiliation and defeat, paralyzing degradation and unbearable pain battled to claim his attention. His last tour, cut short due to his illness over accusations of inappropriate behavior and a resulting addiction to pharmaceuticals prescribed to relieve pain from yet another reconstructive surgery on his scalp, still caused a raw ache at the back of his throat and gnawed in the pit of his stomach. It was at moments of quiet rest, like this one, that the pain seemed fresh, the wound newly-inflicted.
It had not surprised him that Evan Chandler had made good on his promise to proceed against him. He had threatened Michael in front of witnesses when Michael had refused to bow to his undisguised extortion. After all, Michael had always known that Chandler wanted to profit from his son’s relationship with the most famous and, arguably, the wealthiest musical artist on the planet, especially after he had demanded that Michael expand his home and go into partnership with him. He had used his son, Michael’s friend, as leverage.
It had also not surprised Michael when the father of the boy had abandoned his pursuit when his insurance carrier had paid Chandler over Michael’s adamant objections. Chandler was a greedy man, anxious to become a power-broker in Hollywood, sell his screen play and escape his pedestrian life as a dentist. However, it still baffled Michael that any father concerned with his son’s welfare would brand his son as a ‘victim’ for the rest of his life for monetary gain. Nonetheless, that was what had happened.
Sitting in the huge jumbo-jet, Michael spared a moment to pray that Jordy was okay and that he hadn’t been hurt or abused in the ensuing years. He did not know how the boy had been coerced into lying about their friendship, but he was absolutely certain that he had been coerced. He had no doubt that Jordy knew the truth. He didn’t blame Jordy; he had always known that the elder Chandler had instigated the 13-months of hell he had endured.
What had shocked and dismayed Michael was the press’s eagerness to try him in the court of public opinion without due process by publishing the scandalous accusations made against him without further investigation. The media’s zeal and almost gleeful condemnation of him in the wake of Chandler’s allegations had very nearly destroyed him. Its willingness to pay huge sums to anyone who would speak against him, admitting that it knew that it was all lies in the Public Television Frontline special entitled Tabloid Truth: The Michael Jackson Scandal and its callous disregard for the lives it was trashing in the process still had serious repercussions.
He had never wanted to believe that such evil and vindictiveness existed. Even after three years, the entire episode brought tears to his eyes and he had to clear his throat against the sob that threatened to escape.
Wayne, his personal bodyguard and assistant, sat next to him in the aisle seat. Michael missed Bill Bray, who had been with him since his earliest days in show business, having been hired by Motown. Bill had always been more of a father to him than his own father had been, accompanying him on all his tours and providing security and companionship when he was at home. He had grown old in Michael’s service
Wayne who had replaced his old friend, was not quite as comfortable a companion as the grizzled old policeman had been, but Bill had trained him well and Wayne had quickly become Bill’s choice to replace him in Michael’s entourage when he retired. Now, Wayne coughed and removed his seat belt, mumbling something about “stretching his legs,” and vacated the aisle seat. Michael barely heard him as he left, so lost was he in thought.
Almost immediately, Michael felt a presence sliding into the empty seat beside him.
“I thought you were gonna stretch?” Michael asked as he turned to face the seat. He was taken aback to find that it was occupied by a small, freckled, pixyish face, scrubbed squeaky clean.
The woman smiled shyly up at him, exposing pearly-white, straight teeth.
“I’m sorry,” he said kindly, “this seat is taken.”
“I know, Michael,” the young lady replied in a soft, slightly lilting voice. “I’ll only be here for a moment. I just wanted you to know that I am here and that you are not alone this time.” She reached out her left hand, turning slightly in the seat, to caress the long, tapered fingers resting comfortably on the armrest. At the instant of her touch, Michael felt an odd sensation – warmth and comfort washed over him. “You weren’t then, either, but if you need me, I’ll know and I’ll be here. Okay?”
Michael was a little dismayed by her speech, but found no artifice in her manner. Her honest, green eyes twinkled with suppressed laughter and her smile broadened at his examination.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Michael,” she whispered urgently, but with a wink. “Do not be alarmed.”
He didn’t understand his readiness to trust her. His life experience had not made him anxious to trust strangers. They included being stalked, sued, chased, betrayed, and injured by them; but, for some inexplicable reason, he did. He nodded slightly and said, “Thanks.” Then, he turned to look out the window of the plane. When he turned his attention once again to the aisle seat, Wayne was bending his tall, lean frame to sit, resuming his easy perusal of the magazine he’d been reading.
Michael looked around, even standing for a moment, to find the young, elfin girl who had touched his hand only a moment before.
“Where’d she go?” he asked, puzzled by the speed and thoroughness of her departure.
“Who?” was Wayne’s surprised response.
“The lady who sat in your seat while you were gone.”
Wayne just shook his head. “I didn’t see any lady. Who was she? Did she bother you, MJ?”
“No, not really. She was very nice … had a beautiful smile … blond … green eyes … lots of freckles … kinda pretty in a way,” Michael responded.
Wayne just shrugged. “Sorry, MJ, I didn’t see anyone.”
Michael leaned back in his seat, only slightly alarmed at the suddenness of her disappearance, and rested his head against the headrest, closing his eyes. Now, what had he been thinking about before the lady’s arrival? He couldn’t quite remember. “Oh, well,” he thought, “couldn’t have been very important.”
When the giant plane landed in Paris, Michael debarked surrounded by his people. A large crowd mobbed the airport terminal, screaming and chanting his name. In the midst of the chaos, he quickly glanced around searching for the passenger he’d met so briefly during his flight, but was unable to locate her among the disembarking passengers or in the milling throng of fans awaiting his arrival.
The next few hours passed quickly as his entourage dealt with customs checks and he approached the waiting fans to accept gifts and sign autographs, finally boarding the cavalcade that had been hired to escort him to his hotel room at Euro-Disney.
The ride to the hotel was, as usual, tortuous; his driver had to drive excruciatingly slowly to avoid hurting the thronging fans who made any normal speed impossible. They clutched at the door handles, some of them being dragged by the slowly moving vehicle, ran along both sides of the car, and stood too close to the moving cavalcade for his comfort and he said a silent prayer that none of them would be hurt in the maelstrom that ensued every time he left his sprawling ranch.
He could not remember a time when his life had been any different. Since he was just out of toddlerhood, he had been one of the most popular entertainers in the world. His view of life had been limited to hotel suites and moving vehicles, screaming fans, recording studios, film sets, and award shows. He recognized that his had been an extraordinary life, and he was grateful, but he often longed for the freedom of normalcy. Anonymity was a luxury he could not buy, one which most of the world took for granted.
Hopefully, he would get a chance to relax a little in the next few days. He was booked to spend a couple of days at the enchanting reminder of innocent wonder that he enjoyed more than any other place on Earth. No matter which continent – North America, Japan, or Europe – the Disney theme parks attracted him as the metallic needle of a compass is drawn irresistibly toward the North Pole. He could no more fight this attraction than he could dream away the world’s many problems by himself. He recognized it and was grateful for the park attraction’s ability to distract him from his many cares and trials.
Michael entered the Sleeping Beauty Suite, his ears still ringing from the thunderous acclaim of his fans stationed below his balcony and chanting for him to show himself at the window. After appeasing their never-ending hunger for his presence, he re-entered the luxurious suite to settle in for the night. He had some phone calls to make – to check on the progress being made in Prague and Budapest.
~~~
It wasn’t until much later in the evening that Michael had some quiet time to contemplate the strangeness of his momentary encounter with the young lady in the plane. Her soft voice returned to him after his last visit with his fans. The fact that she’d seemed to know what he’d been thinking was borne out by her words, “You are not alone this time … you weren’t then either.” She seemed to have read his thoughts as easily as Wayne read his magazine. The timid smile and the suppressed laughter in her eyes had, somehow, seemed almost familiar, completely disarming him. Her soft touch had flooded him with a sense of peace, comfort and well-being. The fact that she’d disappeared so quickly and thoroughly, leaving behind no trace – not even a scent – was puzzling, but not frightening.
Michael decided on the spur of the moment to step one last time onto the balcony to say goodnight to his friends encamped below his balustrade. There were so many times – times like this one – when he wanted so badly to go out there and just talk to them … to be with them … to learn of them and for them to learn of him. He knew that this was impossible, that someone might get hurt if he suddenly appeared in their midst, but he so longed to have that human contact.
His life, from the time he was little more than a baby, had consisted of being a literal prisoner in the many luxurious hotel suites he had occupied during his travels. Any excursion, even the simplest shopping trip, required detailed planning and security measures usually deployed for visiting royalty or the presidents of large countries or the pope.
Only on his sprawling ranch was he free to open his door and just take a leisurely stroll among the riotously-planted gardens or ride a four-wheeler on the many mountain tracks that surrounded his home. This was an aspect of his life that often caused him distress and his almost total isolation tore at his heart.
He knew that there were few who had faith in his relationship with his followers, but it mattered very little to him. He knew how he felt about them. They were his anchor in the tides of life that threatened to engulf him and his love for them and gratitude to them was real and very intense.
He also knew how they felt about him; their love was just as intense. Somehow, they felt his care for them and showed their care for him in many ways, particularly by being peaceful revelers for the most part. Few of them were seriously injured in the crushes towards the many stages he mounted. They entered and exited in as orderly a manner as possible, considering the massive crowds packed into the stadiums he played. Few were trampled in haste. Considering his attendance-record-breaking audiences, this was an amazing feat.
When Michael opened the French doors leading to the small balcony, the chanting and screaming rose to an eardrum-splitting crescendo, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. The crowd surged forward, crushing those in the front row against the barricades, to be nearer to him as he waved and blew kisses to them, all of them jumping and waving and screaming in concert. He always found the undulating, pulsing mass of humanity amazing.
Suddenly, his eyes were drawn to one small corner. One young lady was standing stock still. She was silent, but watching him with glowing, proud, laughing eyes. She had short, curly hair and pale, freckled flesh. She was dressed in comfortable blue jeans and wore a shirt that read, “My boss is a Jewish carpenter.” She occupied a small corner, directly in front of his balcony and about twenty feet below where he stood and her stillness seemed to spotlight her in the crowd. Her fellow-revelers calmly and easily allowed her that space, which appeared to be the calm at the center of a hurricane.
Michael bellowed, “There she is! There she is!” until Wayne heard him in his adjacent room and opened his balcony door.
He was incensed. “You’re not supposed to open that door unless I’m with you, MJ. What’re you doing?”
Michael glanced quickly toward Wayne and bellowed again, “There she is!” and pointed to the diminutive little blond standing just below his balcony.
Wayne just raised his eyebrows quizzically and shrugged his shoulders. “There who is?”
“The lady from the plane, Wayne! Please ask her to come up,” Michael pleaded.
“Now? MJ, do you know what time it is? You’re not serious!” Wayne exclaimed.
“Now! Wayne! Right now, please!” was Michael’s earnest reply as Wayne turned, mumbling the entire way downstairs. The thought ran through his head that his employer had finally snapped that distributor cap he called a brain.
“He’s flipped! That’s all – flipped!” Wayne muttered as he alighted on the ground floor and approached the doors leading into the melee below Michael’s balcony.
In the meantime, Michael pointed again at the young lady, waving repeatedly. She finally lifted two fingers of her right hand to her lips, kissed them and blew him a kiss, her smile huge and her eyes luminous with pride and love. Michael motioned for her to come to him and she shook her head. So, he motioned again and continued motioning to her until Wayne arrived below his balcony.
Wayne looked up and raised his hands as if to ask, “Which one?” Michael pointed directly behind Wayne, but when Wayne turned around, the young lady was gone. Poof! Just disappeared. Michael’s face fell in disappointment and tears began to form in his eyes.
“Oh,” he exclaimed, as if he’d just taken a heavy-handed blow to his midsection. “Where’d she go?” he bellowed to Wayne. When Wayne shrugged, he yelled again, “See if you can find her.”
Wayne just turned to stare openmouthed at his seemingly demented employer. He motioned behind him with one arm, then the other as if saying, “Look at this crowd. How am I supposed to find one girl in this crowd? Are you nuts?” and started back toward the hotel entrance. It took him about five minutes to arrive outside of Michael’s door. He knocked.
Michael opened the door, rushing to speak. “I know … I know … I’m sorry … that was unfair … go back to bed.”
“You okay?” Wayne asked in a concerned tone.
Michael nodded noncommittally.
“Sure?”
“Yes,” Michael averred. “Very sure. I’m sorry for rousting you like that, but I thought it was the lady I told you about on the Concorde. In fact, I’m sure it was. She has a very irritating habit of just disappearing on me, though. Thing like that could drive a person crazy.”
“Yeah … well try to get some sleep … okay, boss?” Wayne said.
“Yeah,” was Michael’s only reply.
Michael’s famous insomnia, fueled by vitiligo, Lupus, hopping between time zones, as well as his anxiety over his impending months-long, multi-city tour and its preparations kept him awake for another couple of hours, during which he was a virtual prisoner in his opulently-appointed hotel suite. He didn’t even feel he could go to the window and look out at the theme park because it would, undoubtedly, awaken another storm of screaming from his followers encamped below. Finally, he fell into a fitful sleep with visions of a small, pixyish face dancing in his head.
Later, Angelique stood beside the bed in which Michael had fallen deeply asleep and smiled her irrepressible smile. He was so beautiful in repose that his features made her heart smile at the same time they made her knees weak. She had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with him – a thing nearly unheard of among her kind in the hundreds of generations since their creation – but Angelique refused to feel regret for an occurrence that gave her such unbelievable pleasure.
She had first met him on the day he was conceived and her first sight of his face had sealed her fate. She had been destined, created to be his companion through life, easing his journeys through the twisted alleyways of this earthly illusion and beyond. She had shared every childhood disease and each of his innocent dreams. She had witnessed his fears and the terror and trauma they caused, laughed with him during his times of joy and wonder.
She belonged to him more than he could ever understand and he belonged to her, was her responsibility. She loved him more than a mother loves her son or a wife her husband. His pain pierced her heart; his laughter lit her eyes with joy. His dreams were carried on the wings of her hope and faith; his fear shook her universe. It was meant to be.
She worked for LOVE – not love in the human, frail, selfish way that humans understood it – but LOVE as her boss understood it … never-ending, ever fresh, and always faithful but always willing to let the beloved soar freely and without bounds. Love for the sake of the beloved … never counting the cost … passionately seeking union beyond any that this physical dimension could comprehend.
She knew that Michael suspected her true nature and this did not frighten her. She wanted him to know her, to be comforted by her presence, to be uplifted by the purity and beauty of her love. She bent down to trace the intricate lace tracery of the blue veins clearly visible on the back of his right hand resting near his face on the pillow and throbbing with life beneath her fingertips. The softness of her caress awoke Michael and he turned on his back to peer into the darkness surrounding his bed.
“I know you’re there. I can feel your presence. Please show yourself, Angel,” he murmured beneath his breath as his body stilled, awaiting her response.
“Yes, Beloved, I am here always,” Angelique whispered into the darkness. “But your body is exhausted and requires rest and the nourishment and nurturance of dreams to perform at peak efficiency.”
Michael smiled shyly and Angelique felt his smile to the soles of her feet. “I promise to rest, Angel, but only if you show yourself. Please?”
Chuckling under her breath, Angelique began to explain. “Michael, my love, it is you who controls my physicality or lack thereof. I do not materialize and dematerialize like a ghost. You must know that I am here. You must believe your physical sense of sight perceives me and it will perceive me. You must believe that your ears can hear my voice, that your hand can reach out and touch mine for it to happen.
“In your world, you rise from your bed knowing that the floor will be there to support your weight, that the bed is soft and inviting, that the walls and windows separate you from the rest of the world, that the sun exists to bathe you in its warmth and light. There is no doubt, no question. These things exist at your pleasure. Your knowledge of them is so sure that you don’t even think of the possibility that you will rise and fall through the floor … or sink between the molecules and atoms of the mattress … or pass between the empty space that separates the atoms in the universe you think of as ‘the door.’
“Your knowledge is based upon your experience and the experiences of generations of humans from the beginning of time. It is this knowledge that has built the world you live in, your reality, but as everything you see and hear before you, it is an illusion.
“Nonetheless, it is this surety you need to invest in reality. The same surety is required to invest me with that reality.
“You are in charge. I am at your service. You must invite me into your life.
“You have been conditioned through countless generations to see and believe only in the material side of life … to ignore the spiritual side of yourself, of your beautiful earth, of your universe. You must break through that conditioning for it to release you from its spell, which is very strong.
“The only way to break through that conditioning is for you to know that I am always here – and trust in that knowledge – with the same kind of certainty that you know the floor will support your weight. You must focus your attention like a laser beam on that knowledge. Your focus – how you direct your attention –reinforces and strengthens the illusion you perceive around you. When you focus your attention on perceiving me and hearing my voice, it releases you from the spell cast by what you call reality. Only you can do that; I can’t do it for you, my beloved.”
Michael closed his eyes wearily to contemplate her words. When he opened them again, he beheld her form standing in the enveloping darkness beside his bed. Her short, curly, blond hair reflected golden highlights from the lights outside the window, twinkling in the semi-darkness like tiny stars. Her body was in shadow.
Michael reached his hand out to touch hers softly. “Yes, I see now,” he said with a broad smile. “Will you sit beside me and talk to me?” he asked hesitantly.
“Of course, there is nothing that would please me more, beloved,” she answered as she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.
“Tell me about yourself, Angel. I want to understand how this is possible. I need your reassurance that I have not gone completely and irretrievably crazy; but I don’t feel like I’ve gone crazy. Is that a bad sign?” Michael whispered.
Angelique giggled and exclaimed, “Of course, you’re not crazy. It’s the rest of the world that’s crazy. You are beautiful. You have never been anything less than beautiful.
“You are unique in the world because you have remained open to the beauty of magic and you have allowed yourself to be used as a clear channel for that beauty to express Herself in this world of illusions. You have not allowed all your possessions to possess you; you have not allowed the world’s conditioning to control your thoughts or define who you are and what is possible. Your flights of fantasy have always given credence to the enchanted, unexplained and unexplainable side of life. You are one who sees infinity in the smallest detail, beauty in the midst of suffering, and who tries to instill the truth of ultimate reality into the illusions of everyday life.”
Michael’s red-rimmed, exhaustion-filled eyes examined every minute detail of her face in the dim light pouring through his window. Her smile was radiant as he lifted his finger to touch her cheek almost fearfully, as if he expected her to vanish at this gentle caress. “How long …?” he asked.
“How long, Michael? Oh, you mean how long have I been here?” she asked as he nodded weakly. “Not long and very long. I knew you before you were born and have been with you every step of the way since. I will continue with you from now until forever. I am your companion.”
Michael yawned hugely. “Companion?” he managed to squeak.
Angelique rested her hands upon his shoulders and pushed him into a fully-reclined position. “Yes, companion, my dear. Each of your species has a companion. The word has had many meanings: friend, lover, spouse. We are wed, but for clarity we will call it bonded. We are ONE. You and I have been together since time began and will continue together until there is no time. For, time, too, is an illusion. Haven’t you noticed how each of your days can last for eons and eons can be contained within a single heartbeat? Like most things in this earthly illusion, it all depends on how you perceive and experience it.”
Stifling another huge yawn, Michael relaxed his body posture, wriggling his shoulders and settling back into the nest formed by his pillows and mattress. Nodding he agreed, “Yes, that is a mystery, but why now?”
Angelique smiled – a smile lit by a torch of love so strong that it stole her breath from her body. “Give in to me, Michael. Your curiosity is so endearing, but it must not be allowed to jeopardize your health. You are needed. And I am here. I will explain, sweet one, but you must promise to rest. I will tell you a little story.”
His weary eyes lit briefly with merriment as he nodded his agreement to her terms. “I promise if you will rest with me. If you sit beside me, I feel uncomfortable, like I should sit up with you. Will you … I mean … this is so embarrassing … can you … uh … will you do something for me?”
“Of course, Michael; you need only ask,” Angelique whispered intensely, anticipating his request; for he was right. She could read his thoughts more easily and accurately than he could and she had held her breath through all eternity, waiting to hear him utter his next words.
Michael took a deep breath, as if girding himself for battle. “Are you allowed to … uh … will you hold me? I mean, only if you want to,” his voice faded in the quiet room and the clamor of his fans outside the window could be distinctly heard in the street below his balcony, although they were being very quiet to allow him to sleep.
Angelique silenced his rushed, embarrassed explanations with her index finger pressed against his lips. “Oh, Michael, my love, thank you for recognizing and having faith in my love,” she whispered softly as she moved to enfold his torso in her arms, his head resting against her shoulder.
“I’ve waited through long ages to hear you say those words to me. It is my pleasure to hold you. I’ve held you many, many times before without you being aware of my presence.
“Do you remember when you were a child listening to your father’s anger at one of your brothers, frightened and crying? I was there beside you, my dear. You were not alone. You were here in my arms and I was rocking you then as I am rocking you now.
“Do you remember the time, not so very long ago, when the world accused you unjustifiably and wrongly? You paced your hotel suite, wondering how anyone could believe you were capable of the actions of which you were accused. I am there with you, my love, my footsteps following yours. My heart broke with yours. I watched as you fell to your knees in anguish and I held you in my arms through your distress.
“This time is so much better, though, because you know me. I know that you were unable to feel my comfort through your fear and distress, but I am always here. Your anger and fear block your sensitivity to my presence, making it more difficult for you to feel my comfort, but I am always here. Now, are you comfortable, my dear one?”
The moment she had touched him, Michael’s anxious heart was calmed and his turbulent thoughts, logic battling enchantment, were stilled. His ever-present hesitation to believe that anyone, anywhere could know him for himself, without the superstar persona, and love him in spite of his ordinariness was healed. He sighed deeply. “Yes, very …” he sighed. “What kind of story are you going to tell me? Is it about angels?”
Chuckling merrily, Angelique kissed his head resting lightly on her shoulder. “Yes, Michael. All stories are about angels in one way or another. Angels are just messengers; there is nothing mysterious about them. Their sole purpose is to carry a message and the message they carry is love. By that definition, every human or angelic soul creation has ever known is an angel because that is our only purpose for existing.
“But this particular story is about some very special angels who love you very much. Because of their willingness to open their hearts, they see past the illusions – past the music – past the dance – past the hype – past the newspaper accounts.”
Michael moved his shoulders to ease his weight against Angelique’s arms. “Who are they?” he asked. “Do I know them?”
“That is an interesting question and one not easy to answer,” came the soft, melodious reply. “In this lifetime, a veil has been placed over your remembrance; but in previous timelines your souls are very, very well-acquainted.”
“They are members of your soul group or soul family, helpers in a way. So your essence knows them although the personality your world thinks of as Michael Jackson does not know them. In other words, you and they share a special, deeply-personal bond, although neither they nor you may be aware of that connection consciously.”
Michael heard her voice fading as he felt totally caressed from head to toe within a living cascade of comfort and warmth. Every curve was supported within this cascade. Every nerve was soothed; every anxiety forgotten. He felt like he was floating.
“Don’t worry about being too heavy for me, beloved. Just rest. When you decided to experience a physical life, they decided to come with you. Some of them chose to embed “memory triggers” in their genetic makeup … moments when they would be awakened to the powerful knowledge and recognition that you are ONE. They are all over your world in a vast, far-flung network. Some have agreed to assume physical form; others to remain in the world of the unseen, but all of us are here to help you achieve your fullest expression and deepest desires. They have witnessed all of your triumphs as well as all of your anxieties.
“They have prayed for your strength and courage through the trials you have faced and, although you have felt very, very isolated, you have never breathed one breath alone. They have been watching you from a distance and loving you with a love that is ever fresh, never-changing, without condition. Their love is so much like the Eternal One’s love that He has heard their prayers and sent me to you in a form that you can perceive easily with just a small shift in your perception.
“The Eternal One has seen your pain and the prayers of these special ones who love you. She has decided to allow you to perceive more easily – to peak behind the veil – and to know that you are not alone.
“I bear Her love, which you have always known and respected; your advocate’s love, which has formed a circle of light around you, dispelling the darkest night; and my own love, which will never ask of you anything in return.
“Now, go to sleep, Michael. I will hold you and rock you through the night. I am always here. You can trust that.” He heard her voice as if through a tunnel as he dropped effortlessly into a deep, untroubled sleep. “And I always love you.” She leaned forward to kiss the top of his head as he drifted away.
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