I have been a fan of Archangel Michael for many years. Michael's name means, "who is like God." This indicates that he is one with the mind of God and carries out the will of the Almighty, but it's also a question: "Who is like God?" And the answer is, "no one." In my opinion, though, this archangel comes pretty close. Michael is the angel who drove Lucifer and the other fallen angels out of heaven. He is the ultimate protector in any situation of heightened conflict or stress, in which you feel your safety or security might be threatened, but he is also very helpful in day-to-day life.
A lot of people don't realize this, but Michael, like all the angels, has a wicked sense of humor. When you begin to call on Michael for help every day, some comical situations are going to arise. Here is just one example.
Earlier this year, I took a temp job with a financial firm downtown. I hadn't worked in a fast-paced corporate environment for a while and it was very stressful; also, I had mixed feelings about giving up on doing psychic readings full-time and I harbored fears that I would sabotage myself (as so many Pisces tend to do). I started invoking Michael every day while I rode to work on the commuter rail. You don't need any fancy prayers to connect with the angels, so I usually make something up based on the situation in which I find myself. This was my prayer at that time: "Archangel Michael, protect me from myself." I would repeat this little mantra over and over at different times during the day, whenever I felt that circumstances were about to overwhelm me. And it worked ... for a while. Things were going okay until one fateful Wednesday afternoon when I innocently went into the kitchen to grab a Diet Dr. Pepper as my late-day caffeine fix.
Now, before I tell you this story and completely incriminate myself, let me just say in my defense that this was the kind of office where there was free food everywhere: donuts and bagels in the morning, Sam LaGrassa's orders for lunch, cookie runs in the afternoon, you name it. I was not used to this. My last job was at a consulting firm where we all ate like pigs, and I wouldn't turn my back on food if it was for one of my meetings because inevitably, someone would gobble it up. (I once ordered lunch for a group meeting around Halloween; before the meeting even started, one of the other executive assistants tried to steal the cookie platter. She was mesmerized by the witches, bats, and pumpkins. But that is a story for another day). What happened to me next was an accident.
That Wednesday afternoon came at the end of long, difficult day. I was tired. I was hungry. One of the people I supported had taken me to lunch, which is never a comfortable situation. I wanted to order a burger the size of a Frisbee and wash it down with a pitcher of margaritas, but instead I had a bowl of soup and an iced tea. I wandered into the kitchen feeling pretty sorry for myself ... and there, on the counter, was a leftover cheesecake. I vaguely remembered seeing an e-mail earlier that day about a birthday party for someone named Mary. Who the hell is Mary? I wondered, and went back to work. Now there was leftover birthday cake. "Wow! Thanks, Mary!" The cheesecake was cut in sections with each piece nestled individually in its own ruffled paper. I grabbed a plate and fork from a drawer and helped myself to a wedge of the cake. And let me tell you, it was delicious. Moist, dense, rich, with a glaze of caramel on top. Yum. I perched on a chair by the window and gazed out at Post Office Square while I ate. Aaah. The tension of the afternoon began to recede. Thirty floors below me, the streets were getting crowded. People were beginning to leave work for the day and traffic was backed up all along Congress Street. I started thinking about what I would do after work: go to the gym? Head straight home with a bottle of wine and drink it with my best friend on her patio? I was leaning towards wine on the patio when all of a sudden it dawned on me: hey, this cake tastes really fresh. Like it just came out of the fridge. I looked towards the counter. Huh. That kind of looks like ... a whole cake with only one piece missing. All of a sudden my throat closed and I paused, mid-bite. All right, don't panic. This place is free food central. Maybe there was more than one cake. Even I can't believe what I did next: I calmly set my cake down on the windowsill, sauntered casually over to the wastebasket, and began going through the trash. I was looking for discarded plates, forks, the usual birthday party detritus. All my search yielded was an empty box from the Cheesecake Factory.
Holy shit! I am eating Mary's birthday cake! The party hasn't even happened yet! I'm a dessert burglar!
My eyes darted around the kitchen. I might still escape undetected. I glanced at my half-eaten cheesecake and for a split second, pondered shoving the rest of it in my mouth. Then with great regret, I buried it in the bottom of the trash barrel underneath someone's empty Lean Cuisine box. Okay, don't panic, just get the hell out of here. On the way out of the kitchen, I grabbed a Diet Dr. Pepper as a decoy. As exited the kitchen in one direction, I heard the birthday party revelers coming down the hall a different way.
I scurried back to my desk and I waited. After ten or fifteen minutes, people started trickling back to their desks. A small group went into one of the offices down the hall and as the door shut, I heard a woman's voice say, "Did you hear what happened to Mary's birthday cake?" Then a burst of laughter. I pretty much skulked at my desk and kept a low profile for the rest of the afternoon. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. A few people made jokes about it during the rest of that week, but no one really seemed to care. After all, it was only a cake. In fact, I now think it could be argued that I performed a public service but giving the whole crew a good laugh.
Saint Michael, protect me from myself. I have no doubt that the great Archangel was looking out for me that day. Consider the facts: no one came into the kitchen, I didn't get caught in the hallway, no one asked for my dental imprints as evidence. I completely escaped detection. Michael will protect you from all kinds of serious dangers: traffic accidents, crime, fire, persecution for any reason, domestic abuse. But apparently he also doesn't mind stepping in to help you hide the evidence when you have done something dumb!
As I said earlier, you don't need to say any specific prayers to invoke the help of Archangel Michael. If you are interested, there are many lovely, formal prayers available online. But a formal prayer is not required. Just thinking, Michael, help me! will summon him to your side. The angels cannot interfere in our day to day life unless we ask them. They will intervene if you are in a life or death situation, but that's it. It is important to call on them for help everyday. Try invoking Michael in your own life for the next couple of days and see what happens. Your day will unfold more happily, successfully, and harmoniously. Maybe most important of all: you won't find yourself hiding cheesecake in a trash barrel.
I hope you are all having a good day. If you would like to reach me for a reading, the links to my website and my Keen page are below. May all the Archangels bless you!
www.waterqueene.com
www.keen.com/waterqueene
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