… and he pushes the gates of paradise wide open. It originates from the tree of knowledge. It grows after the forbidden fruit has been plucked. Whereas previously only a gentle wind moved the leaves and fruit, it now becomes stronger and stronger. It sweeps through paradise with a roar, blowing open its gates.

A nameless angel, his wings folded and turned towards the gates, hears only the protesting squeak of the hinges that have not yet been used – then he is torn through by the storm. Full of horror, he opens his eyes wide and opens his mouth to scream in protest. Torn away from its place, from its work, it drifts in the storm with its wings open, its gaze fixed longingly on the place where the gates of paradise had just offered it a home.

An angel of suffering – unable to act. Unable to move, to act, he remains in the state in which the storm holds him captive. He is driven by what did not exist before the storm: an outside of paradise. A world is formed and he is a witness – of time, of history. This is now its task.

His wings remain outstretched, as they were in that fraction of a time that did not yet exist, when the storm took hold of him and he struggled to withstand it, but was swept away. Nor can he close his eyes to what he is forced to see. In helpless paralysis, robbed of his ability to fly, all that remains for him is to fulfil his new task: to watch, to witness.

In front of the gates, however, other angels, cherubim, are now watching, their wings turned towards paradise, their watchful gaze directed outwards, the naked flaming sword raised in defence.

Marlen Wagner