She's some kind of Waxwing I think - the angel that sings to me every day.  I like to imagine that she's singing for me of course knowing full well that her song belongs to no one.  Her sweet melody seems to appear at the most critical moment - I'm grumbling about homework or housework, I'm sad about the rain or feeling isolated at home with a bored toddler.  Her songs shock me into presence, into a new cadence that renews the moment.  I am astounded by her ability to shift my outlook, I'm astounded, equally, by the fact that I let her.  This is an angelic moment: the interface between an outside force and our willingness to let that force shock us into presence.  An angel is the catalyst for a moment of awakening, not the harbinger of our desires but that which helps us to see more of the whole.  When I am locked in a mood I cannot see outside of it, an angel can unlock me, and open me to something more.  Sometimes, like the sweet song of a Waxwing,   a moment can be so pleasurable I am catapulted into my body so that I may soak it in more fully.  And sometimes, an angel comes in the form of a painful blow, equally asking me to mobilize my full attention and SEE something new. 

Wherever you are can you let the angels in?  Whether it is a birdsong or a stubbed toe, let your attention be drawn into presence by the mysterious forces that are always at play.  They shock us into NOW and if we indulge the shock we can be expanded in that moment into a larger intimacy with the moment.  The angelic moment requires your participation - it is your job to open to the new melody trying to penetrate the sometimes droning chorus of a fixated state of being.