by Krishna Rose
These were the passages to the afterworld, to paradise, and the nether regions. I shivered. This was such a critical place, as all souls, in passing, must travel through one of these gates—bound by death, departing one world, to reach the shores of the next.
Approaching the spectacular Gate in the East with a reverent mind, I moved close. And as I came upon it, it opened slowly, making no sound whatsoever. Feeling insignificant before such majesty, I crossed its threshold nervously, sensing a change in the air about me. ‘Blessings, Mary. All hail and welcome!’ a voice announced. ‘Behold the benedictions of the east, from where light and inspiration enters the world of the living. Here, the sword of wisdom shines discernment upon the world—revealing the way.’
My gaze, fell instantly upon a sword resting above the surface of a lake. It hovered there, illumined by a burst of gleaming light from within its blazing chassis. I had no knowledge of how to reach it, but as I aligned myself with its calling, it drew closer. My limbs trembled with excitement, for in a slow yet determined way, the sword assuredly glided towards me. As it came closer, I examined the contour of its commanding repose, wishing that I could hold it in my hands. Instantly, the shiny double-edged sword fell into my outstretched palms.
The blade was clean-cut, with symbols etched upon its handle which glowed when my fingers stroked its surface. Though it felt heavy in my hands, the sabre gave me a strength, such that I felt immense courage course through me. My body tingled. I was filled by its charged radiance. I was comfortable with it, like I had chanced upon a long-lost friend. It was as if I was made to hold the sword and the sword was made for me to hold. An auroral light of inspiration and virtue flowed into the world of the living and I felt a deep satisfaction.
The portentous South Gate, where the power of the risen sun purifies—opened, and I watched in terror, as innocence was destroyed on earth. Wave upon wave of idleness, flew into the world, heralding with it a flurry of enchantment. In a violent frenzy, illusion raged upon the world of men in the form of a compelling sorceress. She was the embodiment of desire—ready and eager to tempt. Covetousness oozed from her steaming voluptuous body as she offered men the phantom of fulfillment.
She rushed past me, almost knocking me to the ground, a scorching wind streaming behind her, as she headed for the world of the living.
Leaning against a blooming apple tree which swayed in the turbulence of the witch’s snare, was the scepter which the queenly maiden had endowed me with. It was wrapped in a sheer red cloth. Picking it up, I felt its sovereign authority wash over me—sanctioning my voice. I had owned it once before, in another time and place, and felt a renewed, poised sense of purpose. I knew in that moment, that I would fearlessly assert my will into good deeds and fine speech for the benefit of others.
Yielding its power, I turned to face the back of the giant sorceress.
“Oh great witch!” I cried, “I command you to return to the South Gate!” I said, authority furnishing my behest. She had long since exited the open portal, in a mad dash to satisfy her thirst to harm, deceive, and weaken the sons of Eve. Holding the scepter above my head, courage and divine authority filled me. Everything fell quiet. The leaves fell to the ground. The wind dropped. A great stillness ensued. I waited expectantly, holding in my heart my sovereign Lord, who offered me power over all things.
Slowly, in the distance, I saw the witch approach. Downhearted, defeated, she dragged her heels, her head tilted low. Tamed and subdued, she crossed the threshold, walking past me, paying no mind to my existence, disappearing into the forest. Enthusiastic cheers erupted from beyond the gate and I was charged with a mighty sense of purpose.
‘Fire from the heat of the summer sun, rising in the South Gate, brings with it powerful apparitions. Which, like puzzles, confound even the strongest of men. Yet unfulfillment, heralds a primordial need in mankind to search out for everlasting peace, lest their souls be propelled into the flames of the underworld, misled by greed and revelry,’ a voice cautioned.
Inside the dignified Gate in the West, I observed the light of conviction flow into the world—restoring lost innocence to humankind. Its brilliance suggested by mindful reason, that Paradise is attainable by all. ‘Triumph comes from the autumnal star in the west,’ the voice declared.
There, upon a stone pillar, rested a silver cup. It lay between worlds, glowing in a most beguiling way. Picking it up, I held it between my palms. It was filled with a mysterious liquid that rippled like waves on a windless day. I drank of the pure liquid, just as the queenly maiden had commanded, immediately sensing its cooling streams filling the empty craters of dissatisfaction hidden deep within. I knew in that moment, that I was ready to crush sorrow.
‘Pass through the world of the living dead, newly born. For this water holds within it, the essence of innocence. Now that it has filled you, you shall become a cup that runneth over—by which others too, may by your grace, sustain themselves. Become a guide for the blind, that they might find their way. This chalice shall be a symbol of your feminine power, to nourish all those who thirst, like a mother unto her children,’ the voice declared.
Concluding in the North, a bright moon rose from behind a foggy blackened sky. Mystery flowed into the world of the living, beckoning deliverance and transcendence like an intimate friend. ‘Mysterious magic comes from the wintery moon in the North—as an omen of that which is hereafter,’ the voice caroled.
A tall, slender angelic being approached. His magnificent, billowing wings shimmered in the light, as he handed me a neat package, wrapped in a mantle of blue velvet. Inside, I found the small, yet weighty, smooth round stone, that the queenly maiden had bestowed on me. It overburdened me the moment I held it in my palm. Remembering what the queenly maiden had told me, I recalled, that by this stone, all hankerings had the power to be made real. This made it the most tempting, yet dangerous item anyone could possess, so I vowed to be watchful of all that I wished for from this day forth.
Exiting the North Gate, the maidens came forward with lit tapered candles, handing one to me, processioning to an altar between all four exits. Or were they entrances? There, we lay our candles upon holders. Ten candles offering hope, as the earth spun in the sky above, awash with holy grace.
‘It is out of divine balance to search for more than is given you as a holy blessing. Lack and discontent are not from lack itself, but from necessary non-fulfillment, so that souls might seek satisfaction elsewhere. Mortal defeat and disappointment are inevitable, and the eternal is the only sap having power to fill the cup of the void within—which otherwise can never be appeased.’
CHAPTER 15
COURAGE
Courage is having fortitude in the face of fear, pain, or grief.
Deep in the shadowy jungle, a famous teacher, known as the High-Priest, instructed the gathered crowds. He was composed and of good humor, and when he spoke, he spoke with an otherworldly elegance. He was dressed in the garb of a mendicant and his followers wore white as a symbol of their piety. Within his right hand, he held a tall danda staff, while his disciples sat before him in organized circular positions, listening attentively. A noticeably dynamic energy field was at hand.
The High-Priest saw me approach, and with affection, came and greeted me. The cool, crisp air seemed to form ripples as he neared. I recognized him and basked in his company, very much pleased to see him again. Nodding in my direction, he motioned that I should follow.
The moonlight pierced the clouds as I trailed behind him to a small cottage in the woods, covered with slow creeping lichens and moss. It was as if it had risen up from the ground, forged of earth, fire, and wood. A shiver trembled, working its way up my spine slowly, as remorseful melancholia of prayers, weighed heavy in the air, whispering to the gods of their woes.
The teacher�
�s congregation fell in behind us, regrouping into perfect symmetric circles, encompassing the perimeter of the dwelling. I stepped inside, following closely behind him, while their celestial voices could be heard singing Psalms softly outside—like the pulsing of a ceremonial chant. Inside, the High-Priest presented me with a birch danda rod, similar to the one he himself held. With a heightened sense of awareness, I held it in my right hand—its power streaming into me—increasing my faith, diminishing my attachments.
“Mary, you are like the faithful witness presiding over silence. Never fear what is beyond the veil—for to approach reality and go where others fear to tread, is your inevitable destined course. Only the brave dare to seek what is within, for therein lies the truth. While those who are weak-minded fear it.
“This staff holds a great and mysterious power. With it comes disinterest in all that is false. We pray thee to enshrine upon the tablet of your heart, the many secrets which shall be revealed to you in our conclaves. For by them, life shall again be renewed and restored over the barren wasteland,” he said, with a hopeful glint in his eye.
“The things we disclose in these confidential meetings, are known in the Heavens as sacrificial rites of passage. Since there is substantial repression within the world of the living, there are limits to your revelation and full emergence. Yet even so, within these encounters, we are able to divulge things which your being is able to endure. Each meeting shall further restore you in remembrance of what is to be done. Now come. Look at this and tell me what you see,” he said, motioning for me to sit before an easel upon which was a painting.
Perplexed, I stared at the canvas, unwavering in my gaze, as shapes and faces mingled in the paints, depicting people and places I recognized. Morphing into recollections of bonfires lit on top of the hill, dances under the stars on holy days, friends, family . . . enemies. Jesu. Marriage. Crucifixion. An entire life lived—disclosed before my very eyes.
“Good—your preliminary opening is complete,” he said, seemingly pleased. “Your mind is unprejudiced and for that reason, the curtain is easily lifted from you, allowing us to bend time. Once you have gazed upon these fluid waters, you shall forever have the gift of timeless understanding, which is reserved only for the guardians of the spurned and keepers of the fallen. You have a gift, for you see beauty and goodness in others, even when they themselves cannot. Therefore we can deduce that your faith is fixed. It is unmoving and unframed. Thus you have the ability to see no dichotomy between faith and their presentations based on scripture. As long as someone is affected by worldly attachment—the ability to think and analyze truth will always be compromised.
“The staff, crafted of nature—commissioned by the divine—brings with it the gift of renunciation, without which we cannot disentangle even one soul. The breaking of chains, is to become synonymous with your name, and more importantly, your mission.
“There are four illusions to be unbound, Mary. First is that of the mind—which accepts and rejects pain and pleasure from the moment of birth. Second, is the intelligence, which is the vehicle by which we learn, discerning the real from the unreal. By the intelligence, people invest importance into everything they do, and this spell must too be broken. Only fool’s believe the cause of suffering to be the cause of their happiness. Proof of this, is when the possessions which they believe were the source of their happiness—are removed. In a heartbeat, in their absence, sorrow and dissatisfaction, ensue.
“Throughout life, people flit from one thirst to the next, all the while misunderstanding where satisfaction is to be found. By these illusions, which mortals give their greatest effort toward, it is misery that is bequeathed unto them. Thus they hanker and identify with the external world, believing themselves to be free and independent. Yet the totality of truth is that we are all fully dependent on the source of creation.
“Therefore, the third unbinding is that of the false ego, wherein the soul is fooled into thinking it is independent. Identifying with the chains of their ruin, like a bull on a ring, people are dragged—bound completely to work—day and night, seeking a contentment which is never filled. It is insanity to believe ourselves to be free—immune to death and suffering. We do not see the truth of our own enslavement . . . and this Mary, is the greatest deception of humankind, for all are under its spell.”
“Herein lies the tragic truth of the human experience. For the place where the spirit interacts with matter, through the perceived senses, is actually the birthplace of all misery. Why?” he asked, eyes-widening. “Because it has an end, Mary!” he answered excitedly, before I could reply.
“Contentment is found in self-restraint, which throws ample light upon the truth of human bindings. Henceforth, such a seeker undertakes to serve others rather than themselves and by this high state of goodness, it can be said that they have initiated the correct application of time spent on earth.”
He paused, pensively touching the painting with his fingers, leaving a fingerprint embedded in the image. We all make our mark on society in some way, Mary. It’s up to us to choose how much influence we are willing to assert.
“The soul of humankind has been seized by evil-minded masters who have nothing but industry and finance first and foremost on their minds. They know that to rule, means to have total control. So they enthrall, entice, and distract people in one way or another—by way of the mind and senses. This is their primary agenda.
“At first, there may be a struggle when seekers of truth acquaint themselves with a period of adjustment—withdrawing from the superficial world. However, once familiarized with it, they regain the power of spirit over matter and are at that time blessed with peace.
“The fourth unraveling is found within logic. For it is here that people adhere to the trivial appearance of things. Not coming to any real conclusions, only the illusion of them, the intelligence is lost in thought and speculation. At this point, by their disentanglement—the art of transcendence begins.
“With one foot placed firmly in the spiritual realm and the other still firmly rooted in the material, the sincere seeker recognizes that eventually, by some means, they must choose one over the other. But unless and until that celebrated day comes when all spells are broken, people’s circumstances are bound to be full of disappointment. Only upon enrichment of unfaltering faith, does the call of eternal life irrefutably invite us to trust in it. At that time, the soul, recognizing it to be the healthier choice, takes a leap of conviction based on devotion.
“Here one can claim to have rewritten weaknesses as strengths, having overturned tragedy into victory. Our nature, being divine, longs to rise above the mundane things of this world. For these things bear no significance to the everlasting spirit within.”
A bell tolled in the distance and in a strange voice, he made an illegible sound—“ksch,” while ripples skimmed on the surface of the canvas. I watched intently as the unseen temporal boundaries of timelessness revealed themselves to me. Waving his hand, the distorted images cleared, and one after another, impressions came and went.
“Great change is coming, Mary. Do not fear it—for without it, the burdens of earth and of humanity, cannot be alleviated.”
Together, transfixed, we witnessed the trials of future generations to come, as forces of the natural world wreaked destruction, dispensing punishment upon governments and religious leaders who had long held the reins of control over the people. In dying, they lost their seats of power, their buildings crumbled to the ground, and a lethal sickness ravaged those who remained, killing kith and kin.
A throng of survivors banded together, who had managed, by grace of God, to endure their indiscriminate loss. Together they abandoned their lands, which had become barren, desolate places—to seek out greener pastures. And there, the people worked together, bringing about positive change for the greater goo
d of all. Seeds fell from Heaven and the earth flourished once more.
Pulling my sight from the vision, I forced myself to wake, roused by Mary-Salome shaking my shoulder, “Mary, Mary . . . for goodness sake, wake up.” Passing my babe for suckling, still swaddled, she seemed irritated with me. “You were asleep for hours,” she said impatiently. “Your baby’s been crying, disturbing everyone’s peace!”
My heightened awareness had expanded like the ocean on a full moon, and my heart broke, for so deep was Mary-Salome’s pain, that I could sense every inch of it. Slipping away to fetch Sarah-Tamar, I fed my hungry son at my breast. I was to remain in seclusion for four weeks, to rest and nourish the child in peace. She returned a few minutes later with my daughter in tow, who peaked nervously through the heavy drawn curtains.
Sarah-Tamar, now a Mary herself, was tall and slender. Her golden skin and thick dark hair, shone in the dim light. Her eyes were heavyset, like her father’s. ‘It will soon be time to arrange her marriage,’ I thought to myself, noticing her blossoming womanhood.
Sarah-Tamar commanded respect from the other girls her age, for she was quick-witted, intelligent, and beautiful. Though she had come from my womb, she was her father’s child in every way. Her lessons, I feared, might be difficult, for she could not see the natural ebb and flow of life and tried with all her formidable frustrated youthful vigor, to gain her own sense of control. She longed to know every detail of her celebrated father’s life. And since she had lost him, she was keen to keep his memory alive.