A Chant to the Archangel, Lord Michael

Rishikesh, India. We are being hosted in a tent on the banks of the Holy Ganga river. Our host – a western old Sadu, Baba, holy men. He is from no where. Came to India in the fifties and never left. It is night. A small bonfire casts shadows. We are like two Hobbits at the wizards realm. Are you comfortable?  I am better than ever. Out  in the wilderness, this is exactly what I whished for this Journey, this pilgrimage, to be. We sing and Chant together. His face are illuminated by the soft but truculent fire. He looks as an ancient savage shaman.  "Stay here, young Rabbi. I will teach you all I know". "Already told you, Baba. Must go back to my family". He thinks silently for a while. "Maybe next life", he suggests. "Maybe next life", I accept.  

Silence now. Deep and Old.  The Baba starts a chant. Trembles his voice. I fall asleep slowly, surrounded by the presence of angels.

These are the words of his chant:

Lord Michael, Lord Michael,

I Call unto Thee-
Weld Thy Sword Of Blue Flame
And Now Cut Me Free!

Blaze God Power, Protection Now into my world,
Thy Banner Of faith Above Me unfurl!
Transcendent Blue Lighting
Now Flash Through my Soul,
I AM by God's Mercy made Radiant and Whole!

Lord Michael, Lord Michael,
I Love thee I do-
With all thy Great Faith
My Being Imbue!

Lord Michael, Lord Michael
And Legions of Blue-
Come Seal Me, Now keep Me
Faithful and True!

 I AM with thy Blue flame
Now Full charged and Blest,
I Am now in Lord Michael's Blue Flame Armor Dressed!