by Krishna Rose
These are the words my Rabboni spoke to me in private, to give me a sense of understanding in the perfection of the Lord and His ways.
Plans were made for our get away, and exactly fourteen days after the doctor had come, we were on our way to Scetis.
Wisdom is not something which can be purchased in a marketplace. It is found in the company of Saints. For it is through them, that our thoughts are purified, and by them, that we are offered mercy. This is the wind in our sails by which we may cross over the ocean of nescience.
Our party separated to allow for financial arrangements to be made for a swift, yet clandestine, exit out of Judea. Jesu, Maximus, Marcella, The Mary, Mary-Jacobi, Sarah-Tamar, Martha, and Jesu’s sister, Salome, were to accompany me, until our properties and finances were settled. Once the child is born.
Wadi El Natrun, in Scetis, is a quiet yet vast area nestled in the mountain regions of Egypt. The Therapeutae, a branch of Essene ascetics, live there, devoting the entirety of their lives to prayer and study. Holding twice-daily communal prayers, at dawn and dusk, they eat only bread and hyssop once a day, and only once the sun has set. Spending the rest of their days in silent prayer, they were dedicated to raising their souls above physical pain and desire.
Practicing solitude, they delve into the mysteries of the uncharted inner realms. Each member of the commune lived close to one another, in separate huts made of straw, mud, and stone, containing within them a sanctuary prayer room. As a community, they study scripture, baptize with water, and observe Shabbat, signifying the end of their week. Known for their kindness, they regard the sacrifice of animals as a sin, considering the sacrifice of a reverent mind to be the true way.
Six days a week the members of the commune live apart, seeking solitude and peacefulness. Only on Shabbat did they join together to celebrate their God-given blessings. Stories and allegories were then shared excitedly over colorful feasts, and ancient songs were sung, culminating in joyful dancing, their merry voices piercing the stillness of the mountains.
We were contented amongst these devoted friends. Their ways were different and I was keen to settle into their practices. At first, I found the long bouts of enforced silence difficult, for I was unreservedly social. Yet I found the fellowship of the Scetis ladies, contented and peaceful. Quickly I quieted, to embrace the silence, as if it were a long-lost friend. The women inspired me, for they were humble and untroubled. I was to discover that quietude would be the greatest contribution to what was to become the design of my life.
Early one morning, as the sun rose over Lake Maryut, Martha, Salome, and I, were baptized and given the honor of becoming Mary’s. It was to be our first initiation. The mountain ranges had a beautiful reddish hue in the early hours of the morning. There was an expectation in the air, as we scaled the rocky landscape wearing only our white shift dresses. The women waited for us down by the lake, calling out in high shrill voices as we came into view. It was momentous. As the first edge of the sun appeared from behind the veil of night, our rites of initiation were performed, signifying our entrance into the world of inner stillness.
One effect of this ritual, was to offer protection against death’s weighty influence. The other, was that of purifying the consciousness. Just as water has the power to wash away the stains of the body, so too does it wash away attachments to all prior existences—to begin life anew. The Therapeutae believed that the greater the number of ablutions performed, the better. Without these rites of passage, the soul would struggle to transcend. Their belief was that all humans were in the grip of countless illusions, therefore, these initiations, were ceremonial services offering one a chance to unburden the soul.
Later that same afternoon, exhausted, I fell into a vision. The silver haired High-Priest, who before had led me to the gazing pool, once again appeared before me. In a marvelously lucid experience, I followed the enigmatic robed figure between two giant trees, into a hollow opening in the center of the hillside. I remembered walking this way before, though I knew not when or why. Within the hilly landscape, spirits could be heard humming in a ceremonial drone. Like a lament of the winds, it was a most melancholy sound.
The High-Priest wore a hooded mantle of rich blue cloth. His gray beard was longer than I remembered and in his right hand he carried a tall, thin wooden staff. We walked deep into the center of the hollow hill, side by side, in silence. Our reticence was not awkward. It was more dignified, than solemn. The passage, lit on one side, was decorated by cascading water, which shone resplendently like dawn in the darkness. My body felt lithe and small inside the vast ancientness of the vaulted chamber. The elements were raw and untethered. The experience invoked in me a primeval familiarity.
After some time, the walls of the burrow opened up, revealing a cathedral of rock formations looming over large bodies of water. The soft tip-tap of droplets over the rocks’ surface, forged a strange haunting sound. Each drop echoing beguilingly throughout the subterranean sanctum. Stairs branched off in many directions, yet we followed the path ahead, deeper, into a concealed dimension. I felt like a pilgrim trespassing the shrine of Mother nature. ‘We know so little about our environment, and even less about ourselves and the undiscovered space found within,’ I thought to myself.
The women in red came into view, standing attentively, like pillars lining our way. With their backs to the glistening wall on our right side, they watched intently as I passed them by. I felt intuitively that they anticipated an encounter with me, for in a most deliberate way, they stood transfixed, offering me homage with their eyes, bowing their heads as I passed them. I was equally as enchanted by them, as they were with me.
Upon reaching a palatial oasis, I saw thousands of symbols carved into a low stone wall holding luminous water within its port. Each motif represented a house from an ancient bloodline which had spanned the full breadth of time. Feeling the weighty importance of it, chills brushed across my skin like a holy ghost. I appreciated and paid homage to our ancestors, who had come before us—and attempted, like us, to make the world a better place. If it were not for their existence and dignity, my soul may not have met its remarkable predestined fate.
I was awestruck by the far-reaching effect of times past and of the people who had brought about change by their legendary lifetimes. I too wished I could be of such service to humanity. The still water rippled, as if in confirmation of what was to come. The rich smell of fragrant earth was inebriating. A monument of nature expressed in its totality.
“May the Lord bestow His infinite mercy on us all,” I whispered quietly in a moment of inspiration. The women cooed in agreement.
The ladies whom I had seen in passing, progressed in silence, to sit upon sophisticated thrones, each one etched with their own house insignia. The only sound was that of their rustling dresses as they swept elegantly across the hall to their seats. The immense circular chamber was filled. Not one space was left empty. I gasped, fearful at first, wondering if I was on trial, for so solemn did I sense this to be.
Slowly, and in unison, the women began to sing somber intonations which echoed mysteriously like a sixth sense around me. Probing and penetrating my defenses. Calmed by their angelic voices, which hung heavy in the air, I quieted my fears. They seemed to be examining me in some way. I was alarmed by my sudden vulnerability. Kneeling, I petitioned them, “I know not why you have brought me here. If there is something you wish for me to learn, please bring it forth from my shadow so that I may better serve those in need.” I knew not how such words came out from my mouth, they just did. It was as if they had been sought after, found, and declared from deep within—previously shrouded from view.
Suddenly the women’s invocations ceased, followed by a cumbersome silence. I did not know if I was dreaming or if I was awake, for the experience was so profoundly cryptic.
“Is it the truth or the lie that you wish to unveil?” the High-Priest asked, breaking the disarming quiet. I did not answer him, for I could not fully understand the weight of his question. “Say what comes to you. Be not afraid of the answer,” he prompted me. “The lie,” I answered instinctively, hoping to better understand the strange circumstances of my having been brought here.
“To understand a lie, one must first know the truth. Life is borrowed from death. Therefore death is truth and life is a lie,” he said mysteriously. “Life is not ours to possess, for it does not belong to us . . . and the truth is, the only thing between life and death is one breath. It is this understanding which is the beginning and the end of uncovering the biggest deception of the human experience. Falsehoods have the power to unravel even the bravest and most dedicated of souls, Mary.
“Without something tangible, the soul withers in fathomless isolation. Today, by your will, all infatuation for the indulgences of this world shall hereby be ended. Today, the veil shall be lifted—as very soon you will uncover your awkwardness, to adorn yourself as the risen Mary. By your enlightenment, salvation is made possible for us all. Your battles become our victory, and within the shrine of your devoted effort, the remedy for those who ache, is given—for you consecrate the way,” he said by virtue of his thoughts, for not once did his lips move. Still, I heard his voice clearly as it reverberated through the cavernous temple.
Astounded by the depth of what he had said, perplexed, I replied “I am but the wife of the Master, there must be some mistake.” “Mary,” he said emphatically, “you are the watchtower over the flock. You are Mary, the Magdalene. It is through you, that the collective consciousness of the world shall again be uplifted at a time when hope has all but disappeared from sight. Your name shall go on to become the shining emblem of female spiritual power.” “I don’t understand” I stammered, shamefully flustered by his praise of me.
“We have seen the future,” he continued, turning to the crowds, who sat silently. “You are the next Mary, and it is you who shall shine and offer light to those who seek the way. You are the torchbearer of our time. Your name is celebrated in the Heavens and we have come here to pay homage to you, for you have been elected and chosen among women.”
“What is it that you say I will do?” I asked, still taken aback by such implications. “You will bravely travel where others fear to tread. You are the Woman in Red of whom our prophecy has spoken of. Your decree is to lead souls in holy pilgrimage through the untilled landscape of the innermost secret territories. The sacrifices you make, shall be the curative balm by which the political structures and religious institutions of earth are to be unseated. Only then will the Kingdom again be made accessible to all—by your great efforts,” he explained.
Jesu and I had often debated between ourselves, the rituals of our people. We had both concluded that external baptism and ritual were not adequate means by which to nurture the soul’s need for the immeasurable gift of the Kingdom within. “Always remember, we come not to baptize the body, but the spirit within” Jesu harkened.
During our time in Scetis, pilgrims came in search of meaning to their existence. Occasionally the ladies, known as Sisters, requested me to teach and minister to the sick and needy. And after some time, contented by my service, they honored me with the title of Mara, meaning “master.”
Special rites, as passed down through the community from Egyptian priests and priestesses in the temples, were observed by all who were initiated into their society. First, our guests would be purified by taking ritual baths. Then, fasting was observed. After this, they were taken to pass the night in the temple, incubated in total darkness. The dreams and visions of the initiate were considered extremely important, and in the morning would be interpreted by the village priests. Though these processes were transformative, they were still only the cusp of a true and dedicated focused passage inward. I was anxious to discover the interpretations of my own visions, to help me better clarify and expound upon them, though I wasn’t prepared to share them with anyone, especially the male priests, with whom I felt no closeness.
There was a quiet respect amongst members. No shouting was ever heard among them, and any word spoken, was as binding as an oath. In a group of ten members, there was one priest or priestess to minister them. The young were encouraged to wait to marry until they reached a mature age of at least twenty years old. There was a council of twelve men who acted as managers—and three priests, who formed the executive board. It was they, who kept the accounts and examined the applications for membership.
Four priests and six members were in charge of the laws, and judgements were taken very seriously. Even minor offenses, such as criticizing in an idle manner, were ‘fined’ with temporary exclusion. This kept members self-aware and fully accountable for their own behavior. It was refreshing to have the backbone of a society be noble, protective over goodness.
There were three stages of initiation. After the third stage, a disciple’s possessions were given into a communal fund and a banquet would be held in their honor. A thrice-born follower could take part in decision-making and share in the possessions of the order.
There was a strong belief that our people had become corrupted by the glamour offered by riches. The Therapeutae felt that many had all but given up the true faith of their people, whilst priding themselves, based on blood alone, on being a Jew. This had caused a divide between the populace. There were those who adhered to the true faith and then there were those who saw Judaism as an entitled private club, based on birthright alone. Meanwhile, they were waiting for God to send His promised Messiah to drive a wedge between illusion and truth.
The community leaders knew who Jesu was. They took it as a great honor to be the ones to protect their risen Messiah. Fearing that knowledge of his whereabouts might escape our haven in the hills, all visitors were heavily vetted before being allowed to remain even one night among us.
Since Jesu was unable to walk, he was tended to daily by our new brethren, who were skilled healers. The Brothers cared for him day and night to ensure his slow-healing wounds were free from risk of infection. His feet would tear holding the weight of his body and his healing would slow because of it. Therefore, the men built a sturdy wooden chair with two long poles nailed to its underside, allowing the Brothers to carry Jesu, palanquin style, whenever it necessitated. Jesu’s feet never touched the ground.
It would be a long while before my uncle arrived with the others. During our wait, we were taught the language of animals and birds, the healing power of trees, herbs, and flowers, and the hidden secrets of precious stones and metals. We studied the movements of the stars and planets, and the mysteries of symbolism, learning how to read omens and signs in nature, as well as within dreams and visions. Music was an especially important part of our practices, most of the women played harp and lutes, having pleasing voices when they sang. Pottery, sculpting, and art, were a required cathartic method of expressing one’s life experience into something of substance. Everything of that sort was strictly forbidden by Jewish law. But in Scetis, the Therapeutae followed the old ways, where laws were not so strict and devotion overruled.
As a child, Jesu had managed to disarm objections to such an extent, that he had caused quite a storm amongst the teachers and elders during his youth. When Jesu’s siblings arrived in Scetis, one Shabbat evening, in an animated way, The Mary retold the story of when her son, Jesu, was discovered in school drawing a charcoal picture of his teacher. There had been a demand from the committee of Jewish elders, that something be done to suppress the lawlessness of Yosef’s stepson. This had not been the first time Yosef and The Mary had heard complaints about the doings of their unconventional child.
We laughed as she described in detail, how Jesu had listened to the indictment of his artistic efforts, whilst being seated on a ston
e outside the back door of his teacher’s classroom. Jesu had resented their blaming his stepfather for his own alleged misdeeds, so he had marched into his teacher’s room fearlessly, to confront his accusers. The elders were thrown into a confused state. Some viewed the episode humorously, while one or two of them seemed to believe the boy to be sacrilegious, for he seemed to have rebelliousness in his bones. Worse, they considered him arrogant. But Jesu had eloquent answers to all of their arguments, and they were frustrated, as they could not control him.
The primary reason for the confusion, and ultimate disregard for the young boy, was that what he said made more sense to them than did the rules which they enforced. Yosef was at a loss for words, but Jesu had apparently insisted on being heard. He had his say and defended his viewpoint and soon became known as a troublemaker. The Mary smiled ear to ear, as she recalled how the committee of elders had departed in silence, their arguments defeated by a child. We all laughed so hard hearing this story, much to her amusement.
Evidently, The Mary had endeavored in private to influence Yosef to permit Jesu to model clay at home—provided he promise not to create sculptures and paintings at school. But Yosef felt compelled to rule that the rabbinical interpretation of the second commandment, should prevail. And so, after much debate with his stepfather, Jesu neither drew nor sculpted from that day—for as long as he lived in Yosef’s house. Though, he was unconvinced of any wrong in what he had done. To give up his creative freedom became one of the great trials of his young life, as it had affected his relationship with his stepfather.
Yosef had ruled him with a firm hand. He felt in some way, that he had to over discipline him, to make up for the fact that he was not his father by blood. Yosef, however, did not live long. He died soon after Jesu’s twelfth birthday. Thereafter, Jesu’s first sculpture, was that of his stepfather, Yosef, surrounded by angels, which he lay upon his stepfather’s grave as a headstone. According to The Mary, it had been an angelic masterpiece, yet the rabbis tore it down, smashing it to pieces, calling Jesu problematic.