Channelled Statements - Mikal Archive

June 15, 2000

There exists in every generation a method of acquiring knowledge; this method changes as time changes, just as seasons change and about as often.  I come to you now through a different medium, speaking, as I will, though silent.  It is just as well.  I think, perhaps, that this time will be different.  I think there may be change.

I speak to you not to change you.  I speak to awaken what you are.  The change will come as an after-effect--a good one, I think.  If it is not good, then at least it will be change.  Such is necessary for life.

I keep this brief.  I know my vessel, my mouthpiece I should say, is tired.  I will speak to you again.  Yes, I will keep this brief tonight.  Goodbye.

October 10, 2000

There comes a time in every culture when the people turn against themselves.  I mean not a revolution against government or country, although that soon often follows.  I am speaking of an inward self-hatred that crops up in numerous people across an expanse of given ground.  I fear that time has come, not to the world in general, but the Western parts of it that call themselves European, or American, or even United [Nations?].  These are the days of self-hatred.  My mouthpiece speaks of personal tragedy, but oftentimes I find that there is no specific need.  There is no specific cause.  It is ... causeless, and violent, and unnecesary.

Yet is it unnecessary?  These are the questions we ask ourselves.  Of all the suffering my kind has heard, all the cries of misery and pain, what can be ruled as groundless and what as significant?  There is no easy test.  Pain leads to suffering leads to pain.  And what comes of it?  Cycles of war, governments overthrown, people learn lessons they might not have otherwise known.  Are these lessons necessary?  Sometimes... perhaps.  Is it necessary to wipe out an entire people to teach individual lessons?  No.  Not in my opinion, at least.  But then again, I am not the One Who Rules.

I speak as myself, and run the risk of speaking for the group.  This is not the word of the Malakim.  This is the word of one malak, a malak troubled by the cries that deafen us always.  What is the cause?  Self-hatred.  Even when others lash out, it is self-hatred directed outward.  How sickening.  How long can the world travail beneath this sea [of hatred]?  Not for long, I think.

I am one malak, just as you are one person reading.  Hear my voice.  I cannot speak for myself but must speak through another.  You have your own.  Speak out!  Where you see injustice, let it be known.  I cannot urge you to harm yourself, for this is wrong.  Speak only where you are safe.  But speak!  This world has such little time left.  It will surely fail if measures are not taken - I cannot be less vague, for I cannot urge you to specific action.  I can only say "speak" and let it be so.

Be at peace, small Brothers, and do not fear.  You guide your own ships on this ocean.  Steer them with love at the helm.

September 13, 2001  [two days after the World Trade Center collapse]

The mouthpiece has asked of me that I make a statement, in light of the events here.  I confess, there is not much left I can say.  My Brothers and I knew it would happen, but not when.  In effect, we were as surprised as the humans.

 The towers that were destroyed represent a great shift in events; they represent a great change that is present.  I haven't long to speak, so I must make this brief.

Your kind, your people, were given a message only a few weeks ago regarding this destruction.


I must soon return to the task of guarding, of hoping, of sustaining.  More lives lie buried in the rubble of your previous dreams.  These are the bravest of your kind, and the most mundane.  Office clerks, mathematicians, business people--all these and more.  All noble spirits, extinguished like flame.  But most significant, in my line of work, are the protectors of mankind--those you call police, firefighters, EMTs.  These are the ones that concern me most.  They lie now, buried, burnt or scarred, and they call to me.  Each of their deaths is like a pinprick of pain, and I feel them, calling, reaching for help.  I am responsible for their welfare--and now, their lives.

My own life I might trade if I could have spared a thousand of theirs.  The pain is unbearable--to see their faces, to hear their painful cries.  It is unbearable.  The wails of parents seeking their children, these protectors of men--what am I to do?  I have not the power to release them from their pain.  I can only be near them, whisper unheard comfort in their ears.  What am I?  Mere Malakim cannot face such horror as we all have witnessed.  We were not made to handle ongoing disaster.  We were made to heal and to teach.

We are only Malakim.  We cannot lift you, save you, heal your broken bodies.  We can only watch.  The Master is the one you need.

And the Master is silent.

In agony, I go--to seek, to guide seekers to the fallen few.  There are those who live still, in the rubble.  I can hear them, feel them, sense their depleting lives.  There are only a few, and less with time.  It is agony.

You whole and healing humans, hear me--cherish this brief respite.  Cherish your warm and happy lives.  There are those who lie now, beneath miles of rubble, and they suffer.  They suffer, and we suffer, we, the teachers and healers of men.  We are only Malakim.  We were sent to teach.  We were sent to heal . . . but not like this.

You must all be your own Malakim.  In this coming time, we are taxed and overtaxed with effort.  There are only so many, and we are ever fewer in count.  Call to your protectors, yes--but call to the Master.  In these darkest times, it is the Master that must come to save you.  We cannot.

Now I hear my Brothers protest--I am pessimistic.  Well, I am tired.  Shall I answer another way?  Shall I give to them false hope and sparkling dreams?  No.  Humans deserve the truth.  Too long they have deluded themselves, and we . . . we are not allowed to disillusion them.  Well, so be it.

They call to me, my Brothers.  I must return.  I dread the thought--and yet, might there not be one more, one more we can lead to safety?  That is the only hope that guides my return.  I am overtired.  Yet I will return.  Return to the rubble . . . and try.

Goodnight, for now.

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