Gabriel - The Weaver’s Last Judgement Chapter 4

I spent most of December painting. With the help of the Weaver, my artwork was progressing at such an alarming rate that I entered my first art show and sold out every piece.

I’d been so distracted by my work and the excitement of achieving my potential that I'd forgotten about Her assignment for me. As I was sketching the forest outside the back door, Her voice whispered on the wind.

“You know it's almost Christmas, right?”

“Time flies when you're having fun,” I muttered, coloring in the shading along the ground. “I never used to be able to draw like this.” I laughed.

“And now you can. Isn't that amazing?”

“Are you going to send more demons to possess me?”

“You're behind, initiate, and focused on the wrong things. Your choices will catch up with you. Today is the winter solstice, and a full harvest moon. You will be visited by the archangel Gabriel from the sefirot yesod.”

“Well, thanks for the heads up,” I said, rubbing my face and groaning.

She had chosen me for this mission, and I needed to get my act together. There was no escaping being her acolyte. Without her, I would go back to being a boring farm wife, with no talents and no potential, with only the sheep to keep me company. And that wasn't something I wanted to even contemplate.

I smelled the scent of smoke as I stood and dropped my sketch pad on the chair. Walking down the porch steps, I turned to look to the left side of the house where we kept the burn pile. I slowly approached Atlas as the autumn leaves twisted in the chilly winter air. Smoke billowed around him as he threw more debris onto the flames.

“It's the first day of winter,” I said, getting his attention.

He looked up at me, his nose red and his blue eyes bright. I didn’t think he'd forgiven me for all the things I’d done since the initiation started.

“That’s a good reason to get this done now,” he said, picking up another armload of debris. “The snow is coming soon.”

“What do we usually do for Christmas?” I asked.

“The holiday is in four days, and you're just asking this now?” he said, stopping his work to stare at me.

“I realize I'm not a very good wife anymore. At least by traditional standards.” I laughed.

He sniffed and went back to his work, the acknowledgment hanging in the air between us. We weren't anything like we had once been. I was nothing like I had once been. Not that I knew for sure what that was, but I had a pretty good idea.

“I'm sorry I ruined your life,” I said, trying to make a joke out of it.

He broke a dry branch over his knee with a loud crack and threw it into the flames. The smoke billowed all around him, stinging my eyes.

“You didn't ruin my life. You changed it.”

“I hope for the better,” I said, hoping he would agree. But he didn't say anything. He didn't even look at me. “Do you have any more motorcycle rides planned with Tommy?” I asked, the venom in my voice more apparent than I'd intended.

He gave me a sideways glance, and I gritted my teeth. Everything in me wanted to rush over and grab him, to hold him close to me and strip him down to nothing. But I bit my lip and held myself in place. I didn't know where these feelings came from, and I assumed that he wouldn't appreciate them. Part of me wished I could run away, go somewhere else, and leave the farm behind.

“You’re Adelaide’s mom. We need you.”

“That's true,” I said.

Despite having no memories, I somehow knew how to cook, clean, and care. Things that Atlas really didn't do. In fact, I was always picking up his dirty socks and underwear off the floor, even when they were six inches from the hamper. How he could miss the hamper so completely every single day was a mystery to me, but somehow he still did it.

“There's a full moon tonight,” I said. “I think the angel Gabriel is going to visit us.”

“You mean, visit you,” he said, throwing the last bit of debris onto the flames.

I let out a long breath, the memory of the encounter in our bedroom vivid in my mind's eye. The feeling of the demon Lilith inside my body was still so intense it was almost as if she never left. As if she possessed me every time I looked at him.

“I thought we could have a little wine and watch the moon rise together,” I said.

“Why would we do that? We have so much to prepare for Christmas.”

“I just thought it would be nice to connect. Things have been rough for the last few months.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he said, walking towards me.

As the smoke of the burn pile swirled around him, bringing the scent of cedar and pine, he stood in front of me and placed his hands on my shoulders. I wanted to pull him close, to take him into the forest and let the demon possess me again, to let her do what she had wanted. The hunger was so intense I had to step back.

The sight of him made me shiver, and I didn't even know why. He was a fifty-year-old balding man with a dad bod and a beard he hadn't trimmed in two months. That was definitely not what the TV told me was attractive. But that didn't change anything for me.

“What's wrong?”

“I still have some strange energies inside me, you know, from the demons.”

“I wish you had told me when this all first started. It's dangerous. You should probably get some psychological help.”

“I don't think there's anyone who can help me.”

He sighed and scrunched up his face. “If you want to hang out tonight, we can do that, I guess... I thought I'd cut down the Christmas tree and bring it inside. We can watch the moon rise after that.”

“You're sure you don't have any pressing business to attend to with other men?” I asked, the sarcasm so thick in my voice I wanted to slap myself. He narrowed his eyes at me and twisted his lips.

“I don't know what you want, Anastasia. I'm doing the best I can.”

“I'm not the same woman.”

“But I'm the same man. Maybe I'm not what you want.” He began to walk away, and I grabbed his wrist, pulling him back to me.

“You are what I want. You're exactly what I want.”

“You don't act like it.” I let go of him as he charged up the stairs and into the house, the door slamming closed behind him. I groaned and rubbed my temples.

“What am I doing here?” I asked the Weaver. “Why is it like this? I don't understand.”

“You will understand,” she whispered. “That's the whole point.”

“Why don't you just spell it out for me?”

“It will all be clear in the end.”

I followed Atlas inside and began to clear away the space in the living room that seemed most suitable for a Christmas tree. He had already gone back outside, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Every minute of my life felt like I was trying to get something I couldn't have, something that no one wanted me to have, something against the law. But I knew I existed. I knew I had a right to be here. Otherwise, why did I exist at all?

No matter how many times the angels and demons questioned my right to my own life, I couldn't just blink out of existence. I was what I was, and nothing could change that. My death had only opened my eyes, and the Weaver's will had clarified it, even if she wouldn't tell me what was behind the machinery of the universe. She promised that it would all become clear.

After I'd straightened up the living room and made a place for the tree, the door banged open and Atlas stepped inside, pulling a thick spruce behind him.

“That's perfect,” I said, wondering why the birth of a Middle Eastern Savior somehow warranted decorating the house with an evergreen tree. The traditions that had clung to relevance in the modern world all seemed to be those related to pagan traditions that had been gobbled up and reused by the early church.

Why then did the world continue on as it did, not questioning who we are or where we came from? If the Weaver had taught me anything, it was that she controlled all things. Her web was the web of consciousness, the web of creation, and of the human mind.

Where had she been all this time, I wondered, and why was she so insistent on elevating my awareness now? As I helped Atlas set up the tree, I wondered about all the other versions of myself, those in this dimension and in every other. They were me also, and they were parts of the Weaver's web, the web that connected us all.

“The winter solstice is the perfect day to put the star on top of the tree,” I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth unconsciously. “The tree of life,” I said under my breath.

“It's not a tree of life. It's a Christmas tree.”

“Trees are symbolic. That's part of my mission. The tree.”

“You know, none of this makes any sense to me, Anastasia. I'm sorry, I just don't get it.”

“That's fine. I will go do the shopping for Christmas before Adelaide gets home.”

“Don't forget the wine,” he said.

“I won't.”

I drove into town and parked in front of the grocery store. Walking up and down the aisles, I threw things into the basket, not really caring about traditions or what I was supposed to cook. I didn't even know what day it was most of the time, or how many people would be joining us. I just decided to cook everything that I found reasonably appetizing at that moment. And if my family didn't like it, then they could just eat something else. I was so distracted by the symbol of the tree and the star, that I couldn't think of anything else.

“What is the star?” I asked aloud as I wheeled my groceries out to my truck.

“You're finally asking relevant questions,” the Weaver whispered. “You're finally getting somewhere.”

“There's no star in the tree of life,” I said, getting behind the wheel.

“There's not?” she asked.

“You never showed me a star.”

I drove back home, and when I pulled into the driveway, I didn't even remember how I got there. I unloaded the groceries and put them away, trying to remember the symbols that the Weaver had shown me when she introduced me to the light and dark trees.

“I don't understand,” I said, putting away the last of the groceries.

I hurried up to my studio in the attic and began to shuffle through my notes and papers. I sat in my ratty old chair and looked over the diagrams. There was no star in any of the sefirot or qliphoth. It just didn't make any sense.

“Maybe this is completely unrelated. Maybe the tree symbol just a random coincidence. But if it is, why did she tell me I was getting somewhere?”

I rubbed my temples, feeling so inadequate. None of my other selves could help me with this any more than I could help them with their lives. I was just a boring old farm wife. I'd barely left Missouri in my forty-eight years of life. I was completely unequipped for what she had asked of me.

When I heard the bus drive up the driveway, I went downstairs to greet Adelaide and ask her how her last day of the semester had gone.

“I got all A's on my finals,” she said. “I'm so ready for the break.”

“Good job, sweetheart,” I said, giving her a big hug. “You're so smart and talented. You'll be able to do anything you want with your life.”

“Like you?” she said. My mouth dropped, and she took a sharp breath through her teeth. “Sorry,” she turned and charged up the stairs to her bedroom.

The insult stung, but I knew I hadn't exactly done much with my life. At this point, I knew I'd married Atlas when I was twenty-four and had a child almost immediately. We then inherited his parents' ranch and stayed there for twenty-two years. Not exactly fulfilling the potential of a woman with a multidimensional soul and every gift in the book.

Instead of contemplating my failures, I decided to search the basement for the Christmas decorations. I opened the basement door, flipped on the lights, and walked down the creaky stairs into the murky gloom. A chill ran down my spine, and I wrapped my arms around myself. A single bulb swayed on a wire above the stacks of moving boxes and plastic bins cluttered around the basement.

“I need to organize this place,” I muttered, the mess triggering some mom gene that was somehow severely overactive despite me not having any memory of my life past six months ago.

I began to search the boxes, looking for something marked with the words “Christmas Decorations.” How did I know they were down here? It was one of the many mysteries of amnesia. Things like the location of the Christmas decor were obvious, but the birth of my firstborn son, not so much.

My ability to relate to my husband was just as big a blank. It was like it wasn't even my relationship. I was a completely different person than I was before. At least that's how it seemed.

Atlas loved the woman I used to be, and he was trying to love the new me as well. But who knew how long I could try to fill the shoes of a woman I wasn't sure I wanted to be anymore?

I pulled several boxes off the top of the stack, thinking about the night I was possessed by Lilith. That energy rose inside me every time I looked at Atlas. That hunger was like a blackhole that sucked everything into it, and it was now living inside my core.

I squeezed my eyes closed, wishing I could figure out what I was supposed to do with all this. The Weaver gave me such little guidance. It was so indistinct and amorphous. Like my life. I didn't belong anywhere. I wasn't anything or anyone. Not even the farm wife I used to be. I was nothing and everything. And I could barely live with myself.

I pulled another box off the stack and found a large cardboard moving box labeled with the words “Christmas Decorations.”

“Finally,” I muttered, pulling the box off the stack. When I pulled it into my arms, I grunted at the weight.

When I lugged the box upstairs, it was already dark outside. There was no one around, so I placed the box next to the tree and looked into the fridge to figure out what to make for dinner.

Christmas was several days away, and I had to preserve the food for the celebration. I’d purchased a bottle of wine for Atlas and me that night, and I noticed it wasn’t where I’d left it. Not thinking anything of it, I pulled out ingredients for hamburgers, hoping that would energize my family to decorate the tree with me after we ate.

When I finished dinner and placed everything on the table, I glanced over at the empty tree. There was always so much to do, and the holidays seemed to add ten times as much to my plate as there was on any given day. I didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. With God speaking to me whenever She saw fit, I didn’t think there was much to this holiday in the first place. Yet, here I was, decorating a symbol that had nothing to do with the holiday we were celebrating.

I rolled my eyes. I had no idea how to live in this world. Maybe this wasn’t even my original dimension. Maybe I was from a completely different world where holidays made sense and women didn’t spend all their energy doing things they didn’t care about for no good reason. I walked upstairs to tell my daughter it was dinner time. I peeked through her door, and she looked up from her computer.

“Dinner’s done,” I said. “Do you want to help me decorate the tree after we eat?”

“Sure. That sounds fun.” She smiled and got up from her chair, heading downstairs.

I went to my bedroom, hoping I’d find my husband in there. When I opened the door, I found Atlas sitting on the bed, watching sports commentary.

“Dinner,” I said in a sweet voice.

“I’ll be right down,” he said, taking a swig of beer from a metal can.

“K…”

I closed the door and joined my daughter at the table. We prepared our burgers and began to eat. I was half done with my meal before my husband joined us at the table. He looked down at his empty plate and frowned.

“I didn’t know how you wanted your burger,” I said, drawing my eyebrows together.

“You used to…”

“Sorry,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek.

He huffed and sat down, fixed his own burger, and then took a bite. “This is overcooked,” he said, making a disgusted face.

“I cooked them medium well. That seemed to be the best bet for everyone’s tastes.”

“I like my burgers medium rare.”

“I had no idea.”

“I think it’s good, Mom. Thanks for dinner,” Adelaide said.

“You’re welcome,” I said, looking at my daughter.

She had mustard on her cheek and a sparkle in her eye. I was glad my daughter was doing so well, despite having a completely new woman as her mother. The old me must have been doing something right.

“I guess I’ll make everyone’s medium rare next time.” I took another bite of my perfectly good burger. “I thought we could decorate the tree together after dinner,” I told my husband, hoping he’d join us.

“I was planning to watch the basketball recap,” he muttered, slathering his french fries with ketchup.

“Oh… Well, moonrise is at nine. We can spend time together then.” I gave him a hopeful smile. He finished his food and stood from the table, taking another beer from the fridge.

“I’m sure the two of you will do great decorating the tree. Women love that kind of thing.”

“Ooookaaay…” I muttered, watching his back as he charged up the stairs.

“I guess it’s just you and me,” I said, looking to Adelaide.

“It’ll be fun. It’s a nice big tree. I hope there are enough decorations.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem; that box must weigh fifty pounds.”

When we finished eating, I cleared the table, and Adelaide pulled open the Christmas decoration box. I scraped off the dishes and loaded the dishwasher as she started to untangle Christmas lights. When I finally joined her, she had two lines of lights fully untangled and operational. Together, we wove them around the tree and stood back to inspect our work. “Looks great,” I said, satisfied.

After the lights were up, we draped the tree in decorations. Silver bells, tiny nutcrackers, snowflakes, red bows, and garlands. It took us several hours to complete. Then there was only one thing left to do, raise the star to the top of the tree.

“Do you want to do it?” Adelaide asked, handing me the electrified golden star.

“Yeah. I do,” I said, taking the decoration from her hands.

She grabbed me a stepping stool from the kitchen without me asking, and she spotted me while I climbed up. Reaching upward, I placed the star at the very top of the tree. Adelaide grabbed the electric cable and plugged it into the outlet at the end of one of the strings of lights. The star blazed in golden fractals, and I let out an enraptured sigh as I climbed to the ground.

“It looks amazing,” she said, giving me a hug around the waist.

“It does,” I said, hugging her back.

We stood there for several minutes, admiring our handiwork, holding each other. Then I let her go.

“Dad and I were supposed to watch the moonrise,” I said, craning my neck to check the clock on the stove. “It’s almost time.”

“Can I watch it too?”

“Yeah. You can come out with us to take a look, but I’d really hoped he and I could spend some quality time together.”

“I totally understand. Besides, it’s freezing outside.”

“We’ll bundle up.” I gave her a hopeful look and squeezed her around the shoulder one more time before heading upstairs.

When I entered my bedroom, my mouth dropped in shock and disgust. I stepped through the door, closing it behind me. Atlas was on the bed, lying on top of the sheets, his eyes closed. Snoring loudly, his chest rose and fell. Beer cans littered the floor, the TV was blaring loud, and the wine I’d purchased for us to share was open and sitting on the nightstand.

I walked closer and grabbed the wine, swishing it around. The bottle was completely empty. Anger surged in my chest, and I wanted to smash the bottle over my husband’s head. Instead, I sucked a sharp breath through my teeth, turned off the TV, and left the bedroom.

Downstairs, I found Adelaide waiting on the couch with her jacket, hat, and gloves on. “Where’s Dad?” she asked.

“He fell asleep. I guess he was worn out from work today. It’s cold outside; that tires a person out,” I lied.

My mind was running a million miles a minute. Had he always been like this, or was I just now noticing? Had my dimensional shifts caused this change? Why had the Weaver admonished me about my commitments? Was he drinking because of the demons? I didn’t know. But I couldn’t stop the well of hurt overflowing in my chest.

“Let’s go watch the moonrise together,” I told my daughter, grabbing my coat.

I bundled up, and the two of us went outside into the front yard. The sky was clear and black, stars twinkling in the heavens. The bright orange moon glowed down on us, illuminating our faces with its reflected light. The hurt inside me from Atlas’s behavior tightened my chest, threatening to pull me into the underworld. I called out to the Weaver inside my mind, “Why is he doing this?” But her voice was silent.

“It’s beautiful,” my daughter said. “I’m glad you had this idea, Mom.”

“Me too.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “I’m glad I get to share this moment with you.”