The Valkyries

around, this is my face. I am the place where you are. My mantle will cover you with the rays ofthe sun in daytime, and with the glow of the stars at night.’ I heard your voice clearly!
    “And then you said: ‘Always need me.’”
    His heart was content. He would wait for the sun to rise, and look for a long time at the face of his angel. Later, he would tell Chris of his bet. And tell her that seeing one’s angel was even easier than speaking with him! One had only to believe than angels exist, only to need the angels. And they would show themselves, as brilliant as the rays of morning. And they would help, performing their task of protection and guidance, so that each generation would speak to the next of their presence—so that they would never be forgotten.
    Write something,
he heard a voice within him say.
    Strange. He wasn’t even trying to do his channeling. All he wanted to do was see his angel.
    But some being within him was demanding that he write something. He tried to concentrate on the horizon and the desert, but that’s all he could manage.
    He went to the car and picked up a pen and some paper. He had had some experience with automatic writing, but had never gone deeply intoit—J. had said that it wasn’t for him. That he should seek out his true gift.
    He sat down on the floor of the desert, pen in hand, and tried to relax. Before long, the pen would begin to move itself, would produce some strokes, and then words would follow. In order for this to happen, he had to lose a bit of his awareness, and allow something—a spirit or an angel—to take him over.
    He surrendered completely, and accepted his role as instrument. But nothing happened.
Write something,
he heard the voice within him say again.
    He was fearful. He wasn’t going to be incorporated by some spirit. He was channeling, without meaning to—as if his angel were there, speaking to him. It wasn’t automatic writing.
    He took a different grip on the pen—now with firmness. The words began to emerge. And he wrote them down, without time even to think of what he was writing:
    For Zion’s sake, I will not hold my peace.
And for Jerusalem’s sake, I will not rest,
Until her righteousness goes forth as brightness,
And her salvation, as a lamp that burns.
     
    This had never happened before. He was
hearing
a voice within him, dictating the words:
    You shall be called by a new name,
Which the mouth of the Lord will name.
You shall also be a crown of glory in the hand of the Lord,
And a royal diadem in the hand of your God.
You shall no longer be termed Forsaken,

Nor your land anymore be termed Desolate;
But you shall be called Hephzibah,
For the Lord delights in you, and your land shall be married.
     
    He tried to converse with the voice. He asked to whom he should say this.
    It has already been said,
the voice answered.
It is simply being remembered.
    Paulo felt a lump in his throat. It was a miracle, and he gave thanks to God.
    The golden globe of the sun was rising above the horizon. He put down the pad and pen, stood up, and held out his hands in the direction of the light. He asked that all of that energy of hope—hope that a new day brings to millions of people on the face of the earth—would enter through his fingers and repose in his heart. He asked that he mightalways believe in the new world, in the angels, and in the open gates to paradise. He asked for protection by his angel and the Virgin Mary—for him, for all whom he loved, and for his work.
    The butterfly came to him and, responding to a secret sign from his angel, landed on his left hand. He kept absolutely still, because he was in the presence of another miracle: His angel had responded.
    He felt the universe stop at that moment: the sun, the butterfly, and the desert there before him.
    And in the next moment, the air around him trembled. It wasn’t the wind. It was a shock of air—the same as one feels when a car is passed by a bus at high speed.
    A shiver of absolute terror ran up his spine.

Chapter 53
     
    S OMEONE WAS THERE .
“Do not turn around,” he heard the voice say.
    His heart was pounding, and he was beginning to feel dizzy. He knew it was fear. A terrible fear. He remained motionless, his arms extended before him, the butterfly poised on his hand.
    I’m going to pass out,
he thought.
    “Do not pass out,” the voice said.
    He was trying to maintain control of himself, but his hands were cold, and he began to tremble. The butterfly flew