A Tiny Compass on Amnitziel

The archangel of Pisces

Dear Readers,

Many of you have known me to write meditations on the archangels of the zodiac, which have a long and storied history of ritual invocation. Each season gives me an opportunity to contemplate this facet of esoteric tradition, but more importantly, their themes within the personality of divinity. I almost never deliver these in a timely way so consider this just a freak accident rather than a sign of being organized. Here is an introduction to Amnitziel, the archangel of Pisces.

LVX,

Alejandra

Pisces is the last sign in the zodiac before it starts over. Think of it as the December of astrology. Its name, Latin for “fish”, was chosen because its constellation resembles two of the creatures swimming in opposite directions. In the deep we search for the telltale streak of scales, flashing like opals beneath the water, hoping to catch and carry it home. We can look up to find Pisces floating in the moonlight along the clouds where dreams radiate down onto our pillows. A mirror, the twin reflection winking off the water’s dark surface up to the night sky.

As above, so below—-fish and all.

When the earth orbits the sun it’s a dance. Between late February and March, the footwork is to sigh and cry. Those who entered the world during this time grow into artists who lose themselves in sketchpads and fretboards and dissolve into tears at the intensity of beauty.

Amnitziel, the archangel of this sign, did not speak to me when I called for him.

He knew I was so sick of words that I didn’t even use my voice.

Just pictured his sigil, traced it in the air with my index finger, and he arrived.

Amnitziel had no distinct appearance.

Consider him like the beam of light that travels through the projectionist’s box, arcing over the cushioned seats of a movie theatre. No body, no form, just particles congregating into an image. A fitting presence for a prince of dreams.

Sparing me from small talk, he began. Amnitziel showed the truth of his nature:

A canopied bed, circled in candles.

All things begin in bed.

Everything starts in the dark and ends with the fervent swish of a fin, upstream, against acidic currents, to nest in an egg.

That is how a fantasy is made flesh.

Water is in blood.

Water is beneath soil.

Water is in the air.

When the woods catch fire the moisture of trees are sucked out, as if the flames are a starved dog who will not release a bone from its teeth until even the marrow has been devoured.

While tree bark might be burned to ash, the water it holds makes an escape. A vanishing act as vapor, fleeing back up to the sky.

When you rest in the earth, the water will leave you too, seeping into the moss where you lay, and reentering the atmosphere, so the life-force that animated your muscles is floating in dew drops and storm drains.

Your body is just a decayed thing, a skeleton with no spirit, lying motionless beneath a headstone covered in roses.

Everything ends in the dark.

Here is where you dream eternal.

And I, Amnitziel, would like to speak to you about dreams.

It is my greatest power and yours.

A fish is to water as a dream is to sleep,

Which is why as the angel of Pisces I have come to explain to you how this whole aspect works.

When the days have been cruel enough to shatter your mind, I am there to help gather the shards.

Do you remember 2020, Alejandra?

When your high school sweetheart, seeking me out in substances, slid away from this world and never came back?,” Amnitziel asked.

“How could I forget? I kicked the wall and broke my toe when I found out.”

“Yes. You dreamed of him, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“And who else?”

“My dad. He told me he was sorry we couldn’t say goodbye, because of the quarantine.”

“And later that month your pet spider died and you’ve dreamed of him ever since.”

“I felt personally attacked that year, even though the whole world was suffering.”

I sensed a smile from Amnitziel.

“Without dreams, neither you nor anyone else could survive reality. I am there, to rinse it out, to wash it away, to filter all unbearable things so that when the morning comes, you do not regret it.”

“I understand. So when we are distraught, call on you for aid.”

“Certainly. But what you must understand is dreams and reality are conspirators. When we are severed, the outcome is not desirable.”

The particles that made up Amnitziel gathered into a silhouette but of light rather than shadow, and he took the shape of a gentleman. He snapped white gloved fingers and with that the scenery changed.

“Oh no,” I murmured, knowing we were not in a good place but curious nonetheless.

A room with brightly colored cushions, men and women draped over them in ruched skirts and fine wool suits, with heavy lids and foggy expressions.

“So this is what an opium den looks like.”

Amnitziel nodded.

“Dreams are hope and this place is quite hopeless.”

I picked up the tailored sleeve of a man and dropped his slack arm unceremoniously.

“It seems like this has gone off course into a nightmare.”

“Indeed. And there are a thousand scenarios just like this one to get my point across.”

He waved his hand and there appeared a young man slouching on a basement couch, bathed in the glow of a screen and the sick sweet scent of a vape, controller clutched in his hands. It faded and I saw nothing but a spotlight shining on a barstool with a cracked vinyl seat from relentless wear. Then an iPhone, which somehow managed to look both profane and mundane beside this celestial presence.

“Its not vices I take issue with. Besides, most things in moderation are defanged. Angels know humans were born to have them and we love you regardless. It’s that the measure of dreams I give you is carefully calculated so that you can make meaning and purpose of your waking hours.”

I nodded.

Amnitziel snapped his fingers once more. We stood on a rocky shoreline in some nameless, infinite place. An ocean stretched out. Far ahead, the dawn broke through the fading purple of night into streaks of blood red and orange.

“It’s a mystery that the darkness of sadism seems to overpower the good things in your midst. I can understand how it can be hard to bear. All the same, distraction is a cheap impostor of a dream.

I am here because your imagination is Godly.

Distraction is not your imagination but something with an agenda to control, addict and deceive.
Dreams are not a quest for constant upgrades.

They are not shelter from reality but a hand holding yours so you can face it.

Dreams are not a symptom of dissatisfaction.

They are most definitely not meant to be the disposal of your reality.

They are both reprieve and work. The design stage as you roll up your sleeves and make manifest beauty. So call on me when you cannot make sense of your world, and you are tempted to run from it, or sleep through it. I will walk the path with you, point you to where you ought to go.”

I frowned, uncertain of what he meant.

“Where are we meant to go, Amnitziel? That is the part that we get so lost in,” I asked.

Amnitziel pointed.

“Where the horizon and waves touch, at the cusp of night and day, dreams and consciousness, that is your north star that I will always be there to lead you to. I am there to remind you that you can get from where you are to where you should be. Sometimes you will be awfully broken down, and I will come to administer medicine that not just masks and thereby worsens pain. Instead, it makes you stronger.

Sometimes you will be stuck, trying to make a thing in your mind spill out into real life. That was me who supplied an author with a story ending they were blocked on, or a chemical compound a mathematician couldn’t figure out. I’m not above handing over the final piece to its creator. I belive in you all, or I wouldn’t bother. I am both hope for humanity and faith in yourself—nothing less or different. When you have misplaced either, call on me.”

“Thank you, Amnitziel, for all the times you’ve rescued me.”

He bowed his head, acknowledging. With the last snap, he shifted to mist—water, swirling in the ether, whispering all around me.

“Wake up!”

Thank you for reading A Tiny Compass. Your time and attention is so valuable to me. You can always find me at Gemineye Tarot for private divinations. I’m chronically yapping on social media @GemineyeTarot. Please subscribe to this thing if you haven’t and share it with anyone who might appreciate it. xo.