Two angels flew across the cosmos on a mission. The first angel, Mikael, had been on innumerable such missions before, but this was the first time the second angel, Minäel, had ever left his home in the Fifth Heaven, in the Holy City. Of course the conversation that took place between them, like the flight during which it took place, happened in a twinkling, instantaneously. For angel flight and angel deliberation are both faster than thinking the thought, “Once I was there, now I am here.”

“I’ve never been to the outer cosmos before,” said Minäel, “What are the colonies like?”

“Dreary,” replied Mikael.

“Well, maybe for you. You’re always doing this kind of stuff. You’re used to it. I never have before. I’m excited.”

“When we get there, you’ll see. The locals are – how shall I put it? – rather disagreeable.”

“They’re not dangerous, are they?”

“Good Heavens no! Unless you mean, are they a danger to themselves? It’s depressing to watch them. And when you see how they live! The filthy hovels they’ve built for themselves they actually call cities. Anyone who has seen the Holy City can only laugh at the pretense.”

Minäel’s eyes lit with excitement. “Are we going to see one of the their cities?”

“Yes. It’s called ‘Dallas.’”

Mikael didn’t seem to want to discuss it. He would have preferred just to fly in silence. He would have preferred to complete this mission on his own, as usual. It made time fold more quickly for him. He would make a point of complaining to Samael after he returned. There were others who were more adept trainers than he. Maybe Lahatiel or Af.

But Minäel did not seem to notice – or care about – Mikael’s annoyance. “So what is the difference between the planetary intelligences and the cosmic intelligences?”

“Are you saying you really don’t know?”

“How should I?”

Mikael frowned. “Well, I suppose it depends on the planet. There’s a gas giant orbiting a yellow star not far from the Orion Nebula, almost large enough to be a second sun. The intelligences of that planet are almost like angels. Serene, refined, far-sighted. Not provincial at all. It’s possible actually to carry on a reasonable conversation with one of them. Now this place where we’re going, on the other hand…”

“Is it true they’re made of mud? The ones on the planet we’re going to?”

“Well, of course the mechanics of it is a bit more complicated than that, but, essentially, yes.”

“How is that possible?”

“Well, all intelligences are a mixture of matter and energy in varying proportions. The exact recipe really depends upon the planet itself, and the solar system of which it is a part. Now on this particular planet, the varying temperatures caused by the planetary tilt and rotation, and the ratio of certain elements in the atmosphere and in the oceans, and the gravitational conditions, and so on and so on, made it feasible for intelligences there to actually take form inside the very crudest, roughest, heaviest matter. It’s quite startling to see them actually move and talk. It really is like looking at animate mud, though as I said, the mechanics is a bit more complicated than that.”

“That’s amazing!”

“Well, not really if you think about it. The conditions are right for that kind of existence on approximately one in a million worlds, so quite common if you think about it. But when you see them, you really will have to pity their misfortune. The mud makes them dense and incomprehensible, and one can only think that life in that state is a misery at best.”

“I suppose they’re lucky to have us looking out for them.”

“Indeed.”

“So what is the nature of our mission?”

“You have never been to the colonies, so I’ll start by telling you that the rules out there are different. Early on, you will do best simply to observe.”

“How are the rules different?”

“Do you know what is the most fundamental difference between a planetary intelligence and a cosmic intelligence?”

“No, I do not.”

“They are tied to their planets, and this limitation makes them almost useless in the building of the Kingdom of God. We are there to free them, to make them citizens of the cosmos.”

“I see.” Minäel avidly took this all in.

“Their entire existence is distorted by their limited natures. If nurtured properly they can become useful, though it will not be easy for them. Until they become cosmic citizens, you must not credit their emotions with the same weight as ours. They will seem to feel a certain pain under certain circumstances; and you and I, if we fulfill our missions properly, will be the source of that pain.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“There are a variety of disciplines to which we subject them, to help twist them out of their ruts, to force them to see a larger cosmic picture. We have to communicate with them in idioms that they can understand. As you watch, you will see what I mean. That is the best way to train anyway, without all these futile questions and answers beforehand!”

“So what exactly do we communicate to them?”

“That there is a better way. Now hush, we are approaching!”

Suddenly they saw it below them, a great shimmering globe of bluish white, reflecting the golden light of its yellow sun like a great crystal ball.

“It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before!” gasped Minäel, “What is causing that shimmering?”

“It is a great, dense mass of gasses and moisture. Far thinner than what you find on the giants, but murky in comparison to what you find on the rocks and orbs.”

“They live in that?”

“Yes.”

In orbit around the planet was a pockmarked, whitish-gray rock that looked much more like the majority of planets Minäel had seen before. They hovered for a moment behind the moon, peering down at the planet beyond. “Are there intelligences on this rock as well?” asked Minäel.

“Yes,” replied Mikael, “But we are not concerned about them right now.”

“Fascinating!” gasped Minäel.

“Be quiet now,” said Mikael, “When we enter, you may see some intelligences in there that have been freed from the encrustations of the planet. These are capable of seeing us, and most of them will be frightened of us. They can’t possibly hurt us, and they usually flee as soon as they catch sight of us. Ordinarily, these should be herded into the proper place to await reeducation, but that is not what we are here for today. Most of the intelligences you will see…”

“The muddy ones!” said Minäel, barely able to contain his excitement.

“The muddy ones, yes,” said Mikael, “Most of these cannot see us in our current form. We’re too refined for them to see through their mud eyes. If a mission requires interaction – as ours will – we must learn techniques to assume a form that they can see and hear. I’ll explain to you later how this works, but be warned ahead of time, you may be surprised.”

With that, they plunged into the warm, swirling ocean of air and cloud. Minäel gazed about him in wonder at the ethereal landscape through which they flew. It reminded him of a nebula, but softer, whiter, and brighter. As they flew lower, plunging below the layer of clouds, it grew warmer still, and he saw the sparkling blue ocean and, ahead, the great sprawling brown and green coasts, rising up, far in the distance, into rugged, white-tipped peaks of mountains. Onward they flew over the dry land, gliding ever lower, and Minäel saw signs of activity. They were following a ribbon of black that cut across the expanse of flat land, and he could see things moving slowly up and down it in both directions. It was a road.

“Are those intelligences?” he asked.

Mikael laughed. “No,” he replied, “those are their chariots. The intelligences ride inside of them.”

“They move painstakingly slow!”

Up ahead now, they could see a mass of air, dense with heat and fumes, and beyond that what looked like a bloom of metal, rock, and smoky crystal rising up out of the ground. He saw what looked like tall, thin volcanoes releasing dark effluent into the air. There were more roads, like rivers of dried lava, and myriad “chariots” now crawling down them, mostly toward the dark efflorescence. Minäel saw something teetering precariously in the air above all this chaos, belching smoke out of its rear and flying, if one could call such lumbering, indelicate movement flight. “Another of their chariots,” Mikael nodded, “one that moves through the air.” To Minäel the place looked dark, stifling and cramped, and he felt a distinct desire to avoid it, but it was clear that this was precisely where they were going.

“Welcome to Dallas,” smirked Mikael.

“I see what you mean,” said Minäel.

They entered the jungle of smoke, metal, and silicon. From here, amid clumsy, Gordian towers that blocked out the sun, Minäel could actually finally see them, the intelligences themselves, though he marveled that one could call them that. They looked artificial almost, like clumps of matter an angel might have animated temporarily for amusement. They moved so slowly and gracelessly, meandering this way and that as if with no aim, one could barely suppose them to be alive. Minäel hesitated, gawking in amazement at them. There were thousands of them, milling about below.

Mikael touched Minäel’s hand to get his attention, and motioned to him to follow him. He led him toward a squat, brown structure, quite a bit lower than the others surrounding it, that, Minäel now realized with shock, had been built by these creatures. They glided through its outer walls, and suddenly found themselves in a dark, humid place.

As Minäel’s eyes adjusted to the gloom he first caught sight of a half dozen smudges of something like light and smoke, with eyes and limbs and faces. They quickly scattered away from him and Mikael, disappearing through walls and beyond the surrounding shadows. Minäel tried to catch another glimpse of them, but they were gone, and then he realized with astonishment that these were the “freed” intelligences Mikael had warned him about.

They were surrounded by an incomprehensible clutter. It reminded him of the bottom of an avalanche, but then he slowly realized that the mounds of things here were not after all detritus but artifices, not so much cluttered as stacked. “Not as beautifully as things stacked by the divine laws of chaos,” he thought. The intelligences of this planet must be very dependent on things, it gradually dawned on Minäel, dependent on structures to shelter them, chariots to carry them, and stacks upon stacks of things to surround them. And in the middle of the clutter, he saw it, the intelligence to whom they had come on this mission.

The intelligence reposed on the floor in the dark, with its eyes closed, leaning its back against a large cube, its legs sprawled out akimbo, and clutching something long and dark in its lap. As Mikael approached it, he seemed to glow and then go suddenly dark, like red hot magma flowing into glacial water. There was a sudden haze around him like steam, and when it cleared he looked almost to have turned to stone, dense, stubby and inert. No, not stone, realized Minäel, but something like one of them, like one of these mud creatures. Mikael’s movement was now clumsy and slow like theirs. He sat down in front of the creature. Then his lips moved strangely and a horrific grating noise emanated from them.

Minäel could hear Mikael’s voice ringing, like all angel speech, directly in his mind. It was then he laughed, as he realized with a jolt, “That noise is their speech! He’s speaking to it in its own language!” With deepening intrigue he watched them communicate.

“What’s the matter, Lee?” Mikael asked it.

The intelligence opened its eyes, and looked languidly up at him.

“Oh, it’s you,” it said. Minäel found he could understand it, by focusing on the energy inside of it, rather than on the strange sonic emanations from its lips. “I’m so tired,” it said.

“Have you not prepared? Have you not rested?” asked Mikael. It was difficult to read his tone in the mud speech, but the angelic speech in Minäel’s mind sounded gentle.

“I couldn’t sleep. But… it’s not that,” it replied.

“Then why?”

“Why. Why!” The rasp of its voice rose into a kind of screech. “Because! Because this isn’t so easy. Do you think this is easy?”

“Did you ever really think it would be easy?” Mikael’s reply was still calm and soothing. Minäel was surprised. He had never seen this side of the angel before, this kind of cultivated patience. It reminded him of Samael.

The creature was still agitated. “Well, no. And yes. Thinking about it is different from actually doing it.”

“Indeed.”

“I’m tired.” It closed its eyes again.

“Think of everything you’ve struggled for,” continued Mikael tranquilly, “think of all the sacrifices you’ve made. And think of all those who suffer needlessly. Think of the millions who suffer.”

“The injustice,” it moaned, its eyes still closed, “The oppression. The broken dreams of ordinary people. They won’t listen to reason. The powerful never listen. They never willingly give up their power.”

“There is a better way,” Mikael continued, “But the greater good cannot be achieved without sacrifice. Consider the lessons of history.”

“Those who gave their lives.” It opened its eyes again. Its limbs stirred. It leaned forward, away from the great cube it had been reposing against. Its arms and legs were tensing now like bows. It clutched the dark thing on its lap.

There was an opening in one of the walls of the dark chamber where Mikael conversed with the creature, through which the light of the sun streamed in, cutting through the murk. The creature slowly, painfully it seemed to Minäel, staggered to its feet and moved toward the opening. So lethargic it seemed, so spiritless. It peered down, out through the opening. Minäel hovered over its shoulder, looking down through the opening to see what it watched. He saw them again, thousands of its fellow intelligences teeming around a road that was hedged by the structures, the buildings. They seemed to be waiting for something. Were they waiting for it, for the creature named ‘Lee,’ tottering before him and Mikael?

“I can still turn back,” it said, “I don’t have to go through with this.”

Mikael now stood beside it. He whispered in its ear, “Have you not been preparing your whole life for this? And has your life not been meaningless without this? Do you want to pass back into the dust, the world no better a place for your having passed through it?”

Minäel heard a most pitiful grinding. He looked down and saw that it was shuddering now, trembling as if it might fall down. Water was running down its face, like rain on dust. It wiped the tears with one arm. It was weeping. Astonishing. They truly were intelligences, with true emotions, and not just animate crud.

“There is a better way,” said Mikael again.

It repeated back to him, “There is a better way than all this.” It wiped its eyes one last time with its arm, and then it set to work. It unfolded some artifice onto the ground and then, painstakingly slowly, it mounted the dark thing it had been clutching all this time on top. Its hands trembled as it studied the thing up close. It seemed to be aligning the contraption with the window. Then it knelt down on the floor.

“Who am I to do this?” it sighed, “Why me?”

“You cannot deny your Calling,” replied Mikael without hesitation, “Someone has to be called. And the reason why one person is called over another is never understood from within the course of events by the Called one. Only in the scope of eternity does the reason unfold. Only God knows why.” “I don’t even believe in God,” it replied, “I don’t believe in you. God is the opiate of the masses. And you’re a figment of my imagination, if I’m not crazy.”

“And even if God did not exist, nor I, still there is the truth. And there is what you cannot deny: the cry against injustice. There is your Calling.”

The creature was weeping again, shuddering pathetically.

“The time is close,” whispered Mikael, “Look!”

It raised its head and peered out into the light, and Minäel looked down, and saw that a change had come over the throng, over the thousands of intelligences. They seemed to be shuddering, waving their arms, and the air was vibrating with their cries. Wending down the road he saw a procession of chariots.

“It will be now or never,” said Mikael.

Minäel saw an aura of bright, white light rising around the creature. It clutched the dark contraption and leaned against it. Mikael’s mud form melted away. Freed from it, he hovered just above the creature, who seemed completely absorbed in something else now, what was happening beyond, in the light. There was a crude cracking sound, that repeated several times, tearing the air apart. Mikael reached out and touched the intelligence, and said, “Well done.” Then he turned to Minäel. “We may go now.”

They rose up out of the murky building, up above the city. Minäel looked down and saw a riot of auras now, a great storm of red light rising up from the throngs like heat from coals. The procession had stopped and the intelligences were dancing crazily, weaving back and forth around the chariots. At the center of the storm, he saw six intelligences in a great, black, open chariot. One of the intelligences had been split open from the top down, half of its head sliced away. It was as if the mud body shell had cracked and something bright and ethereal was leaking out. Minäel saw another angel flying to meet it.

“That intelligence down there is freed,” said Mikael.

Mikael led Minäel through a dark, shiny doorway, into a different place, cool and lightless, where they found many thousands of freed intelligences, smoky, glowing entities huddled together. “This is where we take them, before we move them on,” he said, “They will bring the one who was just freed here.”

“Where do they go from here?”

“In order for it even to be possible for them to offer service to the Throne, they must transcend their mud selves, and this is the first rung in a ladder of six million steps.”

“Only six million?”

“Yes, it is possible in even so few.”

It was another twinkling for them to travel back to the Throne, and as they did Minäel had always more questions.

“I understand that your mission was to give guidance to an intelligence. Will we seek to guide other intelligences in this way as well?”

“This will almost always be the goal of our missions, yes.”

“Well, I must admit you played your role most artfully, and though the creature seemed to have been dominated by a spirit of lethargy, you successfully guided it into the right path. But can you now explain to me what end you hoped to achieve through this guidance?” asked Minäel.

“In the normal course of things, the muddy intelligences disintegrate. And there are other ways for them to end. They can crack open like the one you saw, or be broken or crushed, or be stifled with disease. Then their constituent elements seep back into the planet. They die.”

“So they are not eternal?”

“Eternal life is what we offer them.”

“Ah!”

“Though in a manner of speaking, there is a spark in them, a kernel or spirit, that is eternal. Ordinarily, after the disintegration of the mud self, after seeping into the earth it might eventually rise up again and be reconstituted into another soul, devoid of any previous memory. This continues, and they remain trapped in an endless cycle of formation and erosion, formation and erosion, under the shadow of eternal forgetfulness, until the planet is consumed or frozen in the death of its sun. They might be freed in that way, or recycled into something completely different again and perhaps have a chance at eternal life.”

“And yet never receive the truth of the Throne.”

“Precisely. Now unfortunately, the intelligences of the muddier worlds do tend to be dominated by lethargy, almost incapable of resisting the appetites of their muddy forms. If while fully constituted a planetary intelligence can be turned upwards, if a yearning of sufficient intensity can be inculcated in it, at its ending, instead of sinking back into the planet, its spirit will be freed. If it has been taught to strive and to hone some aspect of its will and focus it above, it can transcend the planetary cycle and enter the ladder of perfection.

“The intelligence you just saw freed was a great soul, one who had been chosen by millions of kindred intelligences as their leader, and who was driven by this kind of higher striving. It embodied a great yearning on the part of many for something better, for more freedom and more justice. The ending, the freeing, of this intelligence will intensify its compatriots’ yearning all the more. And the one who freed the first intelligence also had a great yearning, though of a different sort. Though as you saw, they easily lapse into a kind of torpor. They lose their will so easily. That is why we must help them. And we were successful. And this second intelligence will meet a similar end to the one it freed. And a cycle of endings and yearnings will continue.”

“I see! A beautiful plan!”

“Beautiful are all the works of the Throne.”

“Indeed.”

“And nevertheless, the planetary intelligences experience the freeing as if it were a death. It is hard for them to distinguish between the ordinary course of dissolution and the true freeing of the spirit.”

“Do they fear the freeing? Or resent it?”

“Ironically, the very act of teaching them to yearn for something better makes it hard for them not to fear or resent it, even though they should embrace it. You will see in this and in many other ways, they are quite dull, and must frequently be guided into the right paths in spite of themselves.”

“This must make it much more difficult to free them.”

“I would say interesting, rather than difficult. The prospect of death can spur on their striving, if they can be induced to see it in the proper light.”

“Tell me more about the striving.”

“Anything that can be done to seduce them away from the cycle of life and death must be done. This cycle includes their desire for self-preservation, their constant yearning for slumber, their laziness and frivolity, their consumption of other living things, their acts of procreation…”

“They procreate?”

“Yes, these intelligences procreate. That is how they recycle the old dead elements back into living intelligences.”

“By procreation… Do you mean a physical union of male and female?”

“Yes.”

“Disgusting!”

“I cannot disagree. And their copulations are all the more unseemly, given how coarse and ugly they are.”

“Have you actually ever seen them do this?”

“I have. But don’t expect me to rehearse the details of it. It’s crude, just like everything else on this planet. You must inure yourself to it, if you are to be any sort of a missionary here.”

“I will do whatever is necessary for the glory of the Throne, Mikael,” said Minäel.

“That is undoubtedly why you were chosen to be a missionary,” replied Mikael, “And that is all the questions I care to answer for now.”

Minäel smiled and nodded. And that was the end of their conversation, in the twinkling that brought them back to the Holy City.