Letters To Castiel: Dearest Castiel,

I just tried to post this again on letterstocastiel.com but who knows if/when it’ll show up. Here it is if anyone’s curious.

Dearest Castiel,

First, sorry for the obligatory SPN credentials: I watched the first season as it was broadcast then let it go when I stopped watching tv pretty much until some ways into season 5. Castiel, and his doppelganger, got me back into the show, one that I’d originally liked for its resonances with my own life: beloved music of my childhood and onward; extremely dysfunctional family; constant traveling, fascination with the supernatural/metaphysical. I can’t recall believing in God but angels have always held an interest, thanks to Orthodox iconography, Harpo Marx’ with his harp, and Clarence from you-know-where. Castiel reflected the outsider feeling I’ve had since Day One of memory as well as the hope that things had meaning somewhere in life. Like others have said I’ve also found inspiration from his existence, writing as I haven’t felt pulled to since, ever. It may not be good or entertaining writing but expression has always been stifled in me, form the language well enough as I might according to past teachers. I was reading the other letters to Castiel first just now but was compelled to stop, to root the intruding words out of my head so I could read theirs with the respectful attention they deserve.

It is difficult to separate the looks of vessel for both angel and actor but acknowledge that in his/their case, it may be a true reflection of the spirit, soul, 1’s and 0’s, or whatever the heck is within us all as sentient beings. I say that not to infer Castiel is so beloved because he is beautiful but to state that he is beautiful to us because he is so beloved. Told you it was difficult for me to express things sometimes.

Season 6 has also been difficult as there is no “rule book” of sorts as was true for the previous five. I don’t mind the chaos so much as many but I did dislike the clumsy way the Fates suddenly woke up to restore normalcy as we think we know it. That deadwood cleared, I have to say I really went to the poetic place when we saw Castiel standing by the jukebox as ‘Miracles’ played. The young ones of today don’t know how magical it was to hear that song come on the radio back in the day on a hot summer night when there was little else to do. Or how it comforted someone way too young to be smoking way too many Marlboroughs alone in a dark apartment. With the triple whammy of having to watch Castiel’s suffering, the dead bodies piled up in mounds, and Crowley’s seductive rebuke I felt gutpunched with an uppercross to the heart to finish me off.

And then came an endless Tuesday afternoon*, with the pure joy of kite flying brought over from the morning. I think that’s where I left suspending reality in the dust and grew wings watching Castiel spill his heart out, first to God, and then to us beyond the veil, the fourth wall. Was that another day on the job for his portrayer, Misha, or were you also touched by the thought of a wise beyond time yet innocent as a babe angel reaching out to anyone who would listen as he sought guidance, solace? 

Trying to finish this off with some dignity despite spending too much life giving a flying fig about that notion. I’d already been clutching my pillow throughout ‘Let It Bleed’, almost cursing at Dean when he rejected Castiel again and again. During ‘The Man Who Knew Too Much’ Castiel did many injurious things but he was obviously devastated doing them. I think Bobby’s char realized it, having been in a similar quagmire of a war but that could be just my huge respect for both Bobby and Jim Beaver reading too deeply into things. The tormented knucklehead Dean is who I wanted to bop repeatedly with my pillow for not responding like I felt his character should. Sam had to go through what he did x3 and I felt, given his problems, was justified in his backstabbing.

At the pivotal ending scenes, I had already done my typical Wave of Death goodbye to Castiel so was extremely surprised when he survived the angel sword. I’ve only watched it once so far so the continuity is blurred: At some point during Castiel’s assumption of Godhood, I spontaneously threw my pillow in the air in celebration. Loved his old voice, loved his new one and thought of poor Misha’s throat being happier now. I really really wish old Castiel could be restored somehow but am willing to take the leap of faith in his future because of how much he’s come to mean to me. Both now and to the person I once was. The subconcious knows no human framing of time; nor does the heart.

A thousand graces, Castiel, Jimmy**, and Misha.

Your servant,

Maria

aka mariqat

P.S. Please pass on thanks to Eric Kripke, too!

*Ben Edlund is simply amazing. As are the other creative beings involved in Supernatural (And Divine!). Trite words but true and heartfelt ones.

**I don’t care if it’s not canon, I think he’s alive in there, somehow. FUBB sure but who isn’t, really?

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