(Archangel) Michael, or as Samael calls him, stick-up-the-ass, is really stubborn and forceful and righteous – he sees things in black and white, evil and good, and when I once asked him about the validity of other religions – how there could only be One True God when there were so many pagan gods that were my drinking buddies, he smiled serenely, called them false spirits, and said they were, as I quote, “chaff.”
That’s right, I had to look up what the hell chaff was: “husks, worthless matter, refuse.”
Obviously, Michael is not very fun at Asgard parties, especially Freyr’s feasts or Loki’s Jotun shindigs. He kind of just sits there solemnly, watching, will smile slightly, and drinks a little bit while maybe grimacing. Root canals are probably more pleasant to him than the presence of us godless, well, heathens. When you think you’re better than everyone else, and that your God is the only god, it probably makes small talk with these so-called “false spirits” hard. Demons will be the first to tell you angels are pricks. But Michael is probably the most stuck up one. Being the Prince of Heaven kinda means you gotta believe the rest of us heathens – and literal Heathens – are beneath you.
Michael can be really sweet when his I-will-smite-my-rivals and Allie-stop-fucking-getting-into-dangerous-situations-and-go-back-to-your-body snootiness is gone. He loves Disney. He thinks he is Prince Adam from Beauty and the Beast and has temper issues. He likes Ryan Reynolds and always gets celebrities mixed up. He loves Enrique Iglesias and gardening and his magic prayer roses and anything Lin Manuel Miranda touches, especially Hamilton and Moana.
Sometimes he rocks me to sleep and sings lullabies in Hebrew that don’t make sense cause I’m not fucking Jewish. He’s said “You’re my Belle <3” while I’m watching the eponymous movie and calls me Icarus as my nickname, because I have a tendency to fly too close to the proverbial sun. I probably should never have joked with Izzi when I was eighteen that while Gabriel was busy getting his Holy Presence down with the supposed Virgin Mary, Michael was relieving his anal-retentive tension with some sexy goats. That’s like my longest-running joke about Michael and no, I don’t really think the foremost archangel is into bestiality, and as much as I shit talk him, I have to admit he’s saved my ass on countless occasions from the age of 12 on and that I can be really, really ditzy and stupid. Icarus, remember? I throw myself into the flames all the time just out of curiosity. Samael doesn’t use Eve metaphors for me without reason.
Anyways, so the whole chaff thing. That was insulting. I’m Heathen and despite some whacked out woo woo angelic past life, I’m firmly human now, and as much as Michael calls me Zophael or Jophiel it’s just, hello, me Allie, the memelord, and though I can find beauty in the Abrahamic religions, I also think they are highly problematic and the theology is misogynistic af. If I can’t be the Pope or Messiah because I’m a girl than what is the point! I’d much rather chill with Deus and Beel and Sam. Raphael, Uriel, and Gabriel are all much more polite about celestial divisions and fractures – sure, they don’t go out of their way to hang out outside their pantheon, but they also don’t call my gods “refuse” and sit awkwardly at celestial parties with sticks up their butts.
Michael is not a partier and a big introvert, so I get the cold feet at parties, but Jesus, Asgard has roast boar and busty elves and endless mead in ram horns!!! What’s not to love? I never see him at Deus’s bars, which even Gabriel frequents, or Beelzebub’s soirees. Instead we spend a lot of time out in nature, hiking, camping… gardening. So much gardening. Sad plant man.
Anyways, he’s all about me being protected, when all I want is my freedom. I’m not a dumb ass twelve year old that projects to the fourth heaven on accident in the midst of a battle and nearly dies anymore, only to be saved by Michael shoving me back into my body. He’s very traditional in relationships, and kind of seems to want the astral equivalent of a 1950s housewife, but like??? I can’t even cook??? Sam cooks for me instead and he’s a shit cook. So does Michael. Also I’m pretty messy. We’ve been clashing heads over how forceful Michael is – the unstoppable force, him, meeting the immovable object, me.
It’s a learning process. In October I asked him to show me God as a joke and, well, he did. To say I thought I had died was an understatement. Samael has learned better now that I’m mortal, but Michael is all kinds of blunt and direct and doesn’t operate in subtle half-truths and persuasion like the eponymous Serpent. He’s more fire and brimstone and I’m right and you will do as I say. He also has PTSD up the wazoo so like, um, that’s a bit tough.
It got pretty bad on Monday and I told him and Sam to piss off and that I was an atheist. That worked as well as you can imagine if you’re constantly tuned to their energies and your godphone is always on. Sometimes I like to pretend they don’t exist and that I have a choice in all this. I suppose I do, but when you love someone with all your being, were made by them, and would burn at the stake out of devotion and surrender to them, there’s a power imbalance.
I’m learning more things about Michael each day, and I’m still flailing all the way. We may disagree on a lot of things, but we can find common ground in serving humanity and the planet.
I just have to convince him to loosen up at parties. That is a work in progress.