diary / by Edward Mullany


When I think of Lucifer and the fallen angels, I don’t think of them as rebelling, for that is too good a word for them, and does not really describe them, but instead I think of them as souring, like wine that has turned to vinegar, though I don’t mean to suggest that they soured by accident, or due to a defect in their nature, or because such an event was inevitable, but because, wanting to be higher than God, they chose to do so, although, in their envy, they obscured themselves to themselves, so that I imagine they wouldn’t have known that they were souring, unless they’d been able to look in a mirror, and behold the change in their countenance, by which point it would’ve been too late, the souring would’ve been complete, their choice would have been irrevocable, as indeed it was, for, as spirits, angels do not persist in time like us, who age, and who experience moments that elapse, and who thus can choose to return to God, if we have gone away, by a love or a caritas that begins in sorrow and is transformed, through the action of the will, into deeds that are not self-centered, although, eventually, death puts an end to our temporal lives, our chances for reconciliation disappear, and we find ourselves in eternity, heading in whatever direction the sum of our choices has taken us.