Hello Hank my old friend! Miss me?

September 6th, 2004 Clay asked me, "Dani, if an angel appeared at your door, what would you ask him?" The following essay was written as my answer to him. As I feel like I am at the beginning of a place I have already ended once before (profound thought #1) I thought I would re-post this here. Many of you have read it, but maybe missed Hank as much as I have and want to hear from him again...(I can dream the world in my head has a twin existence in reality, can't I?) Most will be confused by it...or at least wonder in their own minds (if not out-loud)... "Who is this Dani girl??" If you know this story...you might want to find me.

I've called Hank home again. ;)

In the greatest of times and testaments, there is a story circulated that tells the tale of the coming of angels on Earth. In response to all those with more questions than faith, the Lord dispelled Angels among men to answer any and all questions of those under-believers (the under achievers of the faithful) and today, one has come unto you. An angel--a celestial cherub of great circumstance-- has been sent from the Lord to your side. Here is what happens:

God has delivered you an angel (You lucky-ducky! Some people have had to capsize a boat for such blessings!) dressed in traditional messenger apparel (No Gap Labels here--oh and yes he is wearing the 'ever after' issue under jammies). He is in your bedroom (quick, kick those socks under the bed!) and yes, he is authentic. (Stop staring, it isn't nice!) You are sure even before the angel waves diplomatic-ally his credentials (praise, they're gold!) Your mind begins to race. You put on your spiritual running shoes....this is going to be a long night (you can tell by the annoying way your bedroom walls seem to have disappeared behind his golden veil) and you look at your Angel. You begin to wonder, what is behind that cloak? That veil? This all looks VERY official. Impressive, definitely. God is clearly an over-achiever! You wonder, what's up with Angels anyway? How do you get THAT gig? Is there an Angel union card? Everybody is unionized these days. You uncle was a union man, a union man and a republican. This Angel LOOKS republican (ahh, the gold-standard makes sense you nod. Republicans are money mongers and usually so very very old!) But no, you haste, shaking your head clear. Angels don't need money. Glory be to God. The badge and papers are obviously loaners and meant only to guarantee your assurance he is not a fraud and anyway you NEED to stop thinking these things because he likely reads minds. Your eyebrow raises in question. And, dash-it-all he nods! Crumb. This is not going well already! You begin to wonder why God did not start you out slower--you know, send you the tooth-fairy or a Keebler elf?! Yes, well, we don't always get what we want. No cutie Keebler elves here. Keebler elves remind you that you fasted earlier. (UN-intentionally of course! How could you know that that book your sister sent you entitled Deep Divers was not about snorkeling and was rather a tiresome love story that make you sleep through dinner?) Did fasting let the Angel in? You raise your eyebrow in question again, but the Angel seems impatient now, or distracted and refuses any expression. Again, this is not looking up.

Ouch! Latin, Galilean, Hebrew all pound through your head. You knew he would have the gift of tongues--but you had no idea the process of getting to a Californian dialect of English would be so wearing on your brain! He finds your language and frowns in clear frustration he's pulled YOUR card tonight (and oh by the way, you wonder, do those robes come with dimmer switches? The neighbors are going to call the cops and you do not relish the thought of explaining this one to ANYONE! 'Ah yes, officer. I am sorry about the eternal sunshine coming from the attic...no, no, I am afraid it has a half-life of a billion years. Yes, yes. I see. Blinding the neighbors. So sorry. Oh does he? Well tell Mr. Gore I will certainly show him the source in the morning if it hasn't melted the foundation yet. Good night to you too.") Happily, the angel (you've fondly nicknamed him Hank) does dim--though stays levitated and refuses to sit (ahh, a Republican after all!). You speak briefly about the Lord. You say, "Oh...Lord!" (Gulp) Then Hank asks you to pose a question to affirm your faith. You can't help yourself--you're thinking about the Lottery, you're wondering about chocolate and if it really can help ANYONE forget the woes of the 'monthly woman gift'.. You're thinking about the definition of flabby, about chemical happiness and television for toddlers and internet addiction and circles (Yes, you spend time pondering circles…get over it!)! You want to know WHY about all these things. You think about little bunny foo-foo. He got 3 chances, you muse. You wonder if Hank will give you 3 chances too. No, you shake your head--Hank is an Angel and Foo-Foo had a good fairy (You chant, 'I do believe in fairies, I do I do!'). You're wondering about fairies again. God should stick with them, you think. They are portable, and glittery and cute and anyway, it worked for Peter Pan...HE never had to grow up! You breathe (you've forgotten to do that for awhile with all your nodding and thinking) and you speak of the Lord again. "Lord," you say, "Lord, I have no questions for your Angel, Hank (you pause and wink at the confused messenger). I have no questions for you... (well, ok, maybe about temples and tithing's and revelations and relationships and taxes and Rumplestilskin….hey don’t judge my unconscious!…but they can all keep). Nothing needed (cheesy wink added for emphasis) to affirm my faith in YOU! My only question is (stay strong!) let's see (pant, pant, cleansing breathe..) about me... (Oh, you Narcissist!). Oh Lord! (Gulp!) am I truthful?"

You sigh. You know the answer. Truth. Full. Full of truth. Completely full? The answer will be-yes. No, no it won't. Can one be completely full of anything? Ok!- so you don't know. Ok, so good question!! Yes! Now you’re psyched! The glowing garbed Angel has work to do now! Except, he knows. He's some AP Angel with his hand already in the air and he's nodding one way or the other (you're not sure--curse that long flowing waxy hair!) and he’s ready to speak.

"Like, let me put it this way Dude," he starts, " You are as full as a tipped ship can be. And truth? The only truth that matters can’t be found even in the clearest mirror. Truth is the bottom-line that can only be traced in the sands of the eternities and it's worthless to try to sail on sand and stay sound."

Humm, you think. What WAS in that glow he sprayed you with?? What a night! What a rush! Truth makes as much sense as betting away all your “E”s and “I”s at a letter-poker game, you decide. (**J. Searle-White reference!)

Of course, the story goes that the Angel Hank returned to you three times that night to minister unto you. He told you super secret Angel Union things and held your feet inches off the floor to be sure you would stop, "...like, fidgeting man, what? Are you like ADD or something Dude?!" and in the morning, although you had no reason or understanding, you forgot to go to the office as usual and rather unexplainable built a fence and fed chickens all day. It was a good use of forestry, except the chickens and the pigeons ended up in a fight and the police cited you for public construction without proper permits and cock-fighting (wait a minute, one of those was a FOWL!)--all outside your 5th avenue condo. Dash it all! Next week, you tell yourself, “Definitely, eat a cheeseburger before bed, and try pulling out a tooth.”