The Prison Ring (intro) 4. 26. 2011



           The air that I cannot feel, feels warm. I grin wildly like a fool in my sleep.  I awake as my heart cracks wide open with love. I awake from a spirit world I do not want to return from. There, I had seen lives woven together in ways unknown, ordinary lives breaking out of extraordinary prisons. And each of us had owned the same ring, one after another, and each of us is now free.

          Jim made the ring in prison, Stan overdosed and died wearing the ring, and I wear the ring now. 

           I sit up in my big bed under my multicolored African canopy, push my long, wild red Medusa hair off my face, and decide I am not in a hurry to get out of bed and go to work. I sit very still and look at the heavy ring I wear on my right index finger.

            The solid silver ring has two angel figures carved in the thick, thick sides. Their faces are Native and their wings, back to back, hold up a silver box, a miniature of the Ark of the Covenant. The box is filled with Jim's prayers, Stan's prayers, and mine. On top of the box on top of my finger, held by the silver angel wingtips, is a heart stone, an emerald.  

            These angels carved on the ring are tiny sculptures of the angels of my vision.

            One angel is called Iras, after the closest comet to approach the earth without falling. This angel comes close to the veil between this world and the other side, leans deep into the eternal veil stretching it thin at a spot right near my right ear, and whispers words of hope and inspiration. Iras often appears to me in a dream or an intuition or words in a book I am reading. Iras often works directly through people. In the 'real' world, my waking world, Iras appears as a crow.

            The other angel is called Lorica, after the Breastplate of Saint Patrick, who protected his people when they shapeshifted  into deer and  passed through the woods full of their enemies who sought  to kill them. This angel protects people as they follow through on the words they hear, so miracles unfold, one by one, dream by dream, soul by soul. Lorica is a wee winged person to me one moment, a fierce Leprechaun warrior. In another moment, Lorica is a giant glowing figure, an archangel with an invisible bright flaming sword. But in my waking life, when Lorica shows, the form taken may be as one of many different animals. Deer, of course, but usually bison. A gigantic bald eagle once. Pheasant, another time. Dogs often, cats more often. And on rare occasion, as the silent warrior owl of death and life.

            I wish I had a warm cup of tea to hold and breathe in.  I can almost smell the jasmine green tea I love. I look out the window to see if the soft, misty rains have stopped yet, but they haven’t.  I scoot back under my blanket and squish my head into my huge pillow. I curl up, close my eyes, and remember what I saw in the spirit world while I was sleeping.

            I saw a burning smoking cloud that a silent voice told me conceals my Creator, shown to me in a form I can hold in my small brain, seen by my spiritual eyes. The usual names are too huge and too holy for me to try to say anymore and so I settle for this simple one, Creator. Creator is larger than male or female, more colorful than color, more melodic than music. I am glad that I was in my bed asleep with my eyes closed during this vision, because there is no way my human eyes could look and still see.

            I heard the silent voice tell me that Creator saw a growing need to help people in prison, in different types of prisons, people who are changed in the heart and now have work to do outside their prisons. I heard that it is time to let these people out, to let them out to do good out in the world. Fast - because this is the time of the Great Healing and time now happens  much faster than ever before. Creator’s law overrules earthly law, so Creator sends angels all over to break open locked doors and locked hearts, with these two disguised as a dream and a crow.

            The angels were sent to Jim to make the ring to help people. Jim had a dream of what to carve in ivory and cast in silver.  Then, he just saw a crow. It arrived because he was praying while he carved the ring in ancient ivory, preparing to cast it in sterling silver.

            Now, Iras and Lorica accompany those who wear the ring.

            Later, after Jim’s turn with the ring, the angels chose the first person to wear the ring and that was Stan. When Stan died, the angels chose the next person and that was me. Harry and Karen were the ones the angels worked through when they gave me the ring that I wear now.     

            I decide to sleep another hour before getting up. I can eat breakfast at work today.  My mind goes back to the stories of the ring made inside the Oregon State Prison.

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