ANGELS AND ALCHEMY

By Donna Wolfe Gatti

 PROLOGUE & FIRST CHAPTER

At the portieres of that silent Faubourg St. Germain, there is but one brief question, “Do you deserve to enter? Pass. Do you ask to be the companion of nobles? Make yourself noble. And you shall be. Do you long for the conversation of the wise? Learn to understand it, and you shall hear it. But on other terms? -- No. If you will not rise to us, we cannot stoop to you.

-- Ruskin

Women must be honored and adorned by their fathers, brothers, husbands, and brothers-in-law, who desire their own welfare.

Where women are honored, there the gods are pleased; but where they are not honored, no sacred rite yields rewards.

Where the female relations live in grief, the family soon wholly perishes; but that family where they are not unhappy ever prospers.

The houses on which female relations, not being duly honored, pronounce a curse, perish completely, as if destroyed by magic.

-- Laws of Manu, the Lawgiver of the Human Race

PROLOGUE

Four thousand years ago, blue was unknown. To ancient man, the sky appeared gray and the ocean a lighter shade of black. Mother Earth was as colorful then as she is today, but human beings could not perceive her true beauty. No sapphire rings, navy sweaters, or even a pair of baby blue eyes for our ancestors to admire—just a dismal spectrum of limitations. When melancholy set in and life became too humdrum to bear, a miracle occurred. A veil of darkness was lifted by the angels and humanity celebrated a step forward in evolution.

            It’s happening again. Another layer of the veil is being removed, exposing our senses to a greater reality. The slow alteration of consciousness—first one human, then another—leads to a major shift in awareness. When the scale is tipped, genius becomes the norm. Michelangelo felt an inner ecstasy and converted it to art; Mozart transformed invisible rhythms into music; Poet Walt Whitman heard the sounds of grass growing and trees coming into leaf; and in 1988, a woman named Maya was granted permission from the Creator to enter the spiritual realm and communicate with angels.

            According to today’s standards Maya has supernatural abilities. In the near future, her skills will be as common as a dollop of blue icing on a child’s birthday cake. We are in the era of creativity and spirituality. More people will reach the heights of artistry, and many more will keep company with angels. A quickening is taking place throughout society. Human beings are awakening to the presence of a divine intelligence working behind the scenery of their lives, mapping out a perfect plan to suit each individual’s needs and desires.

To awaken from an afternoon nap, a bell, a shake or a splash of cold water will do the trick. But the slumbering spirit requires a heavier hand, a more dramatic alarm system. For some people it is a health crisis: they or someone they love is stricken down by disease. In an effort to understand why this affliction has come upon them they are forced into soul-searching. If misfortune goes beyond the point of recovery, the process of growth is a sad and difficult journey through unimaginable grief and despair. Earth is not theirs to enjoy. Blessings of victory await them in heaven, where the rewards are great and everlasting.

Advanced souls of a philosophical bent ascend the spiritual pathway with style, ease and grace. An inner knowingness, gained from struggles in previous lifetimes, leads them to the right place at the right time. As if by magic, answers appear before a question is asked -- helpful books fall from shelves and land at their feet; strangers whisper words they need to hear. The wisdom of the ages belongs to them. For those whose eyes are wide open, shaded only by rose-colored glasses, the world is a safe and happy place.

But there are many souls who are hopelessly lost. Without guidance, they will never find their way out of darkness. Only divine intervention can save them. A brief but heartfelt prayer to God is enough to spark the flame of enlightenment. To keep it lit, angels rush in bearing gifts of truth, comfort and understanding. The link between a lost soul and the spiritual realm is often forged by an Earth angel, such as Maya.

I was wandering in the dark, a lost soul, and this book chronicles the events of my salvation. Maya and the angels led me to the spiritual pathway and watched as I took my first step. They were at my initiation into the Halls of Mystery, as faithful teachers and guides. I had many lessons to learn, and my education continues. The angels instructed me to share their messages with others, as they were not intended for me alone. So if a word or a phrase rings true in your heart, then know that it was meant for you.

These pages also contain a different array of experiences, for this journal would not be complete without the story of my love affair with Nick Brutelli, a romance that began in the ethereal realm and unfolded over the course of our many lifetimes together. As soul mates, we explored feelings that exist only in the physical dimension. Our earthly mission was to accumulate knowledge, and I learned a lot during my years with Nick -- the kinds of things that angels cannot teach.

CHAPTER ONE

“Hey, Donatella, catch!”

A long, thick envelope flew past my face and landed on the sofa cushion beside me. “Nick, don’t!” I yelled, a second too late. “You nearly hit me. When are you going to grow up and stop throwing junk at me?”

“Lighten up. If I’d wanted to nail you I would have. I aimed to miss. Just having a little fun,” he said, lifting one eyebrow and grinning like a naughty little boy who knows he’s cute. “Besides, it’s not junk. Look at it. You’re going to like it, I promise.”

I picked up the envelope and read the return address stamped on the upper left-hand corner. “Atlas Travel: Shrug your Sorrows and Soar!” He was right -- I liked it. “Where are we going? Where are you taking me?”

“Open it. It’s your birthday present. I’m sending you someplace sunny, and when you get back I’ll have another surprise waiting for you,” he said, strutting to the bar to make himself a drink.

Nick didn’t serve in the armed forces, thanks to a head-on collision in a Volkswagen when he was eighteen, but his posture gave the impression that he was career military. You could almost see him in a perfectly pressed uniform, a 5’9” cavalier, haughty and domineering. He walked with stealth, his eyes hard and fixed on a target, as if each step took him closer to his goal. It was that attitude, plus a single-minded determination to succeed, that made him a winner in nearly every battle. His arena was the courtroom, and his enemies were insurance companies and prosecuting attorneys for the State of Washington. In trial, he commanded everyone’s full attention -- partly due to the fact that he was handsome and charismatic, but mostly because no one knew what to expect next from the unpredictable Mr. Brutelli. Some lawyers were smarter and had worthier arguments, but no one employed the element of surprise better than Nick.

He poured himself the usual -- eight ounces of Tanguery gin straight up in a tumbler, no ice, no olives, no onions. “Displacement,” he liked to say.

The envelope held an airline ticket to Palm Springs and a hotel voucher for two nights at the Silver Palace Resort & Spa, massage and beauty salon services included. He was taking me to the Palace, a trip I’d begged for. And for two days I’d have him all to myself -- a perfect opportunity to renew our love affair. One weekend of sex interrupted only by room service, poolside cocktails, and late evening suppers in the hotel’s famous dining room, the Bon Vivant.

“Nick, this is fabulous! You’re the most wonderful man on the planet! You’re the best!” I gushed, hoping my enthusiasm would please him. Maybe he wasn’t the most gracious gift-giver (he did nearly whack me with it), but he was generous and he knew how to please me. Sifting through the travel itinerary, I noticed that Nick’s name wasn’t listed. “They made a mistake; they forgot to include your ticket. Never mind, I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

“I’m not going,” he said, wetting his lips and topping off the glass with a jigger of gin.

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t take the time off. I’m in trial.” He turned on the six o’clock news with the remote control and settled back into his black leather easy chair. As far as he was concerned, our discussion was over.

“I want to spend my birthday with you.” I said, choking back the tears. “I don’t want to go by myself.”

Nick slammed his glass down on a pile of trial notes, splashing them with gin. “Damn it, Donatella, I’ve been planning this surprise for a long time and you aren’t going to ruin it. You are going and you are going to have a good time.” He was obviously disgusted with me. “I work my ass off to make her happy,” he muttered to the anchorman on TV, “and all she does is bitch.”

Feeling chastised and ungrateful, I gave in. “You’re right, as usual. I’m sorry. I love you…you really are the best.”

“That’s right. I’m the best and don’t forget it,” he said, still miffed, or acting like he was. Sometimes Nick pretended to be angry when he wasn’t. He was good at playacting and he used his talents most effectively in court, convincing jurors that he fervently and honestly believed his client was innocent. Regardless of the evidence, he refused to back down or concede blame. Arguing with him was like trying to catch a two-year old on a sugar high -- it was easier just to give in and let him run wild.

I would do precisely as he wished, except for the part about having a good time. How could I without Nick? I would go to the Palace Spa alone. Instead of champagne and sexcapades, I’d fast on lemon water and workout with a personal trainer. Nick hated fat women, a point he frequently stated, and I had gained more than a few extra pounds over the holidays. Maybe he thought a brief separation would be good for our relationship. Too much togetherness, he had said, and couples start taking each other for granted.

END OF CHAPTER ONE