There must have been a time when everything made sense. Maybe once, before God had a hand in anything; when existence was just an embryonic fleck in the incomprehensible vastness of reality. Our reality; because there are several, overlaying one another like sheets of paper splayed on a conference table. Of course this is a gross simplification of how it actually is. There literally are no words in the human language to explain the intricacies of how reality is composed. It is both there and not; it is everything each individual thinks it is. Characters from works of fiction have life; they breathe, they eat, they fuck, they dream. Those dream-entities exist, in their own worlds, their own reality, and their dreams are real, too. Fun house mirrors, reflections spanning on and on, never ending, all representing reflective images of the same origin:

God.

Once again, this is a shit poor excuse for an explanation. It's more than smoke and mirrors. It's more than papers on a desk, their corners overlapping. It's a parasitic vine creeping up a tree, winding its way up the bark, choking out the trees existence until the vine and the tree become one; the tree tries to stop the choke hold of the vine, and starts to grow its own bark around it; this happens for centuries, until the thing is no longer a tree, but it's also no longer a vine, but a hybrid of the two that are unable to be extracted from one another.

The beauty of the entire thing is that if you were to pan out from this amalgamation of tree-vine, you would see they were both in a forest, and that the vine was part of a vast network that sat over the ground, lacing its tendrils intimately with all of the trees. Even that falls short in describing the biome of existence, because then you have to take into consideration the sky, and beyond that the stars, and beyond that nothingness there is something, because there is Always Something.

And that is what animal brains can't comprehend, what they were never meant to comprehend. Just by there being a concept of Nothing, it exists. Nothing is Something, and you cannot have Something without Nothing, and vice versa. Humans have slowly begun to make sense of it all, with their discovering dark matter and antimatter. Yet even that is barely an idea, like someone catching a whiff of a certain food as they drive past a row of fast food chains, but can't discern exactly what it is they're smelling.

I honestly don't think that humans will ever gain a full understanding. Their brains were never intended to. It's all there, in that squishy gross collection of neurons and synapses, bundles of nerve-endings and sloshes of water. And, since I'm being honest, I'm shocked that humans have evolved as far as they have. Human bodies are really such a patchwork of existence, like a child sloping together what they think is a snowman in a puddle of mud. Really, that's pretty close to what it is. I'm surprised their bodies work at all. They're so inefficient too! Having to expel waste, birth and monthly cycles being excruciating for woman, and don't even get me started on how fragile they are, with their squishy bits, and diseases, and cancers...There's a lot to be updated, that's for sure.

But at the same time, they've managed so far. Plus, I'm getting ahead of myself. Human brains have the capacity for this knowledge, they just haven't unlocked it yet. Once again they've stumbled across the tip of their iceberg; scientists and the medical communities have come to realize that humans only use about 20% of their brains. What they don't know is that it's actually about 5%; their spiritual lives, whether they choose to believe it or not, whether they believe in One God or Many, takes up a portion of their brain power. And as for the rest?

There's the knowledge of Existence, of Something and Nothing. There are colors on the spectrum that animal brains weren't made to process. There are sounds all around on different wavelengths that would reduce a person to babbling tears at the sheer undiluted beauty of the rapturing sounds of it. There are particles to be tasted and smelled, things like the smell right before it rains; there's more smells like that, indescribably comforting, but also much too overwhelming.

For while humans know that brains are what make them keep working—living—they don't understand that their main purpose is actually that of an interstellar filter. It's quite sad, really. I've seen what happens to people when their brain-filter processor either breaks, has a default (born or traumatic brain injury), or simply evolves too fast (because yes, there are those among you that are evolution keys, and their brains are slightly different than most, for better or worse).

You've seen what happens to people when their brains don't filter as they're intended, too. The man on the street corner asking for money while he gives you a warning that Satan is walking on earth, using televisions as his megaphone. Your crazy aunt Sally who thinks herself to be a medium; she's harmless but drinks moon water, wears too much perfume, and makes you have at least one ouija board session whenever you visit. Or maybe you know first hand; things happening you can't explain. Things you have talked yourself out of, things you don't talk about, don't even like to think about because you've been conditioned not to. Don't even acknowledge it, because it's embarrassing, it's uncomfortable; nodding your head to the unknown puts you one step closer to The X-Files, lands your alignment to the guy you gave money to warning you not to watch TV because it's literally the devil's work. You don't want to end up in a psych ward after all, friendless and lonely, do you?

Even the spiritually enlightened have a fine line to walk. Humans have created a wall between acceptable and insanity. They put the truth where fear resides. Humans have to shelter the truth, because they don't want to seem insane, or full of themselves, or in some instances, evil. So priests take their vows of celibacy, nuns go to their convents, and people like Joan of Arc are thrown into prison repeatedly for speaking her truth and refusing to dress like a female.

Make sense?

Yeah, I didn't think so, either.

And, pray tell, how do I know all this for certain? Because I am Seraphin, Archangel Primus of Heaven, second in command to God Himself. You may call me Sera for short. It's pronounced see-rah, despite what a certain little blonde haired angel might try to tell you otherwise.

I know all this for it is my Truth. I am an angel, seraphim, Archangel Primus; I literally cannot lie. Now, that isn't to say that I can't spin half-truths, or tell little white lies if it all leads to the actual truth. I can withhold information like the best of them; in fact, first and foremost I am a soldier of the Lord, and have been trained as such, gruesomely so. In fact, I am actually rather unlike amongst my kin in Heaven.

See, that's one of the most common misconceptions about celestial beings. We don't have to be prim and proper. I personally have a fond affection for all the colorful cuss words people have created; I am, after all, a being of emotion, and sometimes no word really punches what I'm trying to say as much as "fuck" does. Unbecoming, sure, but I literally don't give a damn.

Which is reason numero two angels don't particularly love me. They think that I should care more (which is funny, because if they knew what I actually do, and how much I actually fucking care, it would make their eyes leak). I know there's a whole swarth who wish God would put me in my place already; including my sometimes-lover Rosalyn. Yes, you read that correctly. Angels have sex and it's not a bad thing, or a sin, or some other stupid, downright offensive nonsense humans have tried to attach to it. Look, all I'm saying is that Jesus was not a virgin birth, and that God didn't just poke her forehead with his index finger and suddenly there was a baby there. I'm also defending the fact that it could have been much worse; at least God was nice enough to use Joseph as a vessel, unlike the Grecian Gods who were way too enthusiastic about beastially. (Seriously, one day I need to sit them down and ask them what the fuck.)

The only reason my intimate relationship with Rosalyn might be questionable at all is because we are colleagues. Yes, even in Heaven work relationships are frowned upon. But the nice thing about being disliked is that no one would dare voice their disproval over fear of me snapping their neck.

Would I? Probably not. But no one needs to know that except for you and I, dear reader. We'll just let them continue thinking I would. Truthfully it would depend on the day and how much sleep I've gotten. I don't sleep very much, so already the cards aren't in their favor. Point is, if God can get so pissed he floods the entire damn planet, it wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility that I might snap a neck here and there.

If you read that and interpreted it as me comparing myself to God, then you have found the last reason I'm not liked by angels. Having sex might not be blasphemous, but comparing yourself to God (and boasting you could do a better job than God) is. In fact, it's downright sinful, boarding forbidden. But that's the entire point.

God doesn't care. He stopped caring a while ago. The amount of times I've tried to get Him to smite me... The amount of times I've, loudly, called his bluff, waiting for Him to reply...

Because, dearest reader, that's my secret. I am known throughout Heaven and Hell as a ruthless leader; crass; unconventional. Hot-headed. Rude. Not very saintly (no shit? I'm an angel, not a Saint). Some would even call me cocky. Others would even go so far as to call me an egotistical maniac bent on ruling the world on an inflated perception of self-importance.

All that's true. It is. I'm a jerk and I'll be the first to admit that. But I'm a jerk because I have to be. I'm a jerk because there is no God. He exists, yes, but He has checked out. Everyone knows that I am displeased that the majority of Heavenly upkeep has fallen on my shoulders; everyone knows because I am very vocal about it.

I am vocal about it because, well. This is one of those things that human words fail to describe, so I will try my best. I am not a natural angel—that is, my celestial being, my soul, used to reside in a human body. Thus, my bond to God is less than true celestials. However... Due to my status as Archangel Primus, the highest echelon of Archangel there is, I actually surpass that of natural-born celestials. He did not create me directly, but the moment He laid His hands upon me, unfurling and creating my last set of wings, we...bonded. Some of God's essence became one with my soul. I have become a vessel for God—not literally, but God's beauty and power courses through my veins. He touched me, He touched my soul, and We have come to be a vine-tree.

My foul moods branch beyond a workload so insurmountable I literally don't sleep for years on end. It goes beyond frustration over having to run everything without being asked, without even being told to. It goes beyond infuriation over the fact that I have take it upon myself to pick up the slack because no one else sure as shit was.

Once again, words fail, but I ache. I ache daily. Imagine having something enter you. Imagine having a best friend, a lover, a soul mate. Someone who knows you inside and out. Someone you would literally die for, someone you literally can't live without. If you are a twin, it's akin to that feeling; that the other half of you is in this other person.

Now, imagine they were just gone. No explanation. No fight, no "final straw", no breakup. Just severed, no contact. A best friend who suddenly won't return your calls. A friend whom you know is still alive but has decided that, for whatever reason, they want nothing to do with you. Ghosted on an unforgivable level. Imagine your twin just...Not being there. Amputees still feel their limbs, ghost limbs. It's their very human, physically processing brains trying to parse out that a part of them is gone. It's bewildering, it's confusing, and it hurts, it hurts so fucking much.

Trying to explain this is difficult. It's not like mourning a lost parent or child, nor is it the soul-crushing despair of a pet dying. It's more akin to having a pet that you raised from infancy, owning them for twelve years. Then, one day, they slip out the door and don't come home. One day leads to two, two leads to a week, and before you know it you've plastered "Have You Seen Me?" papers on every lamppost and three months have gone by. You can't walk into a pet store without bursting into tears because every animal just reminds you of your pet that you may or may not ever see again.

So I have my tantrums, and I speak my blasphemies, because at this point I would take a smiting. At least then I could find comfort that He was here. And in any other situation I would be damned to admit that I have begged, but within the safe confines of these pages, dearest reader, I feel comfortable admitting my weaknesses; begging hasn't worked. And, dear reader, well...As loath as I am to admit it, here we are. I miss God. I miss God, and I hurt. I am lost, and betrayed, and confused.

So I must do something because God is gone, and I hurt, and I have to do something to bring Him back to me.