Have you ever met an Angel?
Like most people, I never spent much time thinking about angels. In my mind, Angels are ancient beings, cherubs with wings who appear as if by magic to biblical characters (mostly men), like St. Paul in the Tullianum dungeon in Rome. They appeared only to those who were worthy. I never thought of them as existing in the modern world. Someone recently posed a question that got me thinking again about my own angel story…
Some years ago I bought myself a magnificent London house with a large drawing room…large enough for a baby grand piano. I had always wanted one, so one fine Spring Saturday My friend Ingrid and I trotted off to Jacques Samuel Pianos on the Edgware road.
The showroom was packed with pianos and people. The air was filled with cacophonous sounds, from children discordantly banging on the keys to adults trying out rusty chords. Bored children sprawled on the floor. Sunlight poured through the windows.
I was mesmerized. Where to begin my search? I noticed that Ingrid slipped away downstairs.
I floated through the showroom sizing up the Steinways and Bechsteins and Steinwegs. I found myself being drawn downstairs too by the sound of a masterful piano player playing what can only be described as music that sets the heart on fire. I have no idea what was being played, only that I wanted to be nearer to it.
Sitting at a grand Steinway was a tiny Asian woman with long black hair. She was at one with the music she played. I padded over to stand beside Ingrid while we watched and listened. The woman looked so small at the massive Steinway, but she commanded it fully. She finished playing, and drawing herself up, looked at us for the first time “I am going to find a piano for you” she said to me. Ingrid and I looked at each other. How did she know it was me looking?
On the way upstairs, she told us she tested the tuning on pianos for the Albert Hall before they were delivered for special events. We followed along behind her as she told us that not every piano is appropriate for every individual. The sound had to be right. She would find the right one for me. It never occurred to me at the time that she didn’t know me from a bar of soap, so how could she know which piano was the one for me? We followed along behind, lost in her magic.
She made her way through the showroom plonking down on piano stools and coaxing a few chords out of a baby grand before abruptly jumping over to the next piano. I asked her name and scribbled it on a scrap of paper in my handbag. Asked if she gave piano lessons, she said she would and gave me her telephone number.
Finally she alighted upon a Yamaha in the window. Ingrid and I watched and listened to her mastery of this little baby grand. How did she produce such a beautiful sound? After a few chords she pronounced that this was the piano for me. I was so delighted that I looked anew at this slightly worn and banged up piano and eyed the price. Not the most expensive in the store, but was it good enough? I looked around to question her, but she had vanished. Ingrid cast her eyes around the store and said she probably went back downstairs.
I resolved to find her after I bought the piano. When the transaction was completed I asked the salesman “Where’s the woman who was playing the Steinway downstairs, I’d like to thank her”. He looked confused. “I didn’t know anyone was playing downstairs” “Yes…The woman on the grand Steinway. Downstairs. A while ago. She chooses the Albert Hall pianos before you send them over.” I replied. “Sorry. We don’t have anyone like that” he replied. He questioned a few other salesmen. Blank faces. No one heard the beautiful music, nor did anyone know of the mysterious piano woman.
I felt this was a bit odd, but was comforted that at least I knew where she worked and had her number. After the piano was delivered I phoned the telephone number: the number was not in service. I quickly phoned the Albert Hall and asked for her by name: never heard of her.
At first I felt violated and fearful, fearing that some dreadful trick had been played on me. I gazed at the piano. I struck a key. It sounded full of promise.
Some months later, a friend playing at my Christmas party told me the piano had a full bodied sound that belied its size. As I looked at my guests, they were in rapture. It sounded rich and elegant in my house, bringing the whole place alive.
I dined out on the story of my piano angel. Ingrid and I spoke about it often. Could we both have been deceived? How could it be that no one else heard the music that day? Was she a ghost? Were we dreaming?
Knowing each individual has a unique ‘key’ vibration and that vibration is so important for spirit to tune in on, what my piano angel said made sense after all these years. I can understand why she had to choose the right ‘sound’ for me. But how did she know what vibration it was?
Looking back on it I wonder if my piano angel even existed in this dimension or if she was spirit made manifest just for me that day. An Angel sent down from above for one who was worthy.