by Krishna Rose
Salome continued to live inside the palace with Queen Herodias, and she gave Herod Antipas one night of virginal pleasure, for the sake of her damnable scheming.
John’s head, wrapped in burial shrouds, packed into a personal case, was given to me, as his widow. I took this same case with me to Scetis, along with the remarkable black stone Bethel, and vowed to one day bury John somewhere befitting his status.
CHAPTER 18
CONFIDENCE
Confidence is the feeling of belief in one’s self, that in a given situation, you can have faith in your own ability and decision to do the right thing, and do it well, with certain assurance of a positive outcome.
Mary-Salome came to see me. She had been uncharacteristically withdrawn since leaving arriving in Scetis. She was the most feared and hated woman in all of Judea. Only the Romans and Caiaphas were well pleased with her irrational conduct, for her actions had conveniently played in with their desire to see John wiped from the earth.
Caiaphas had met with Herod Antipas just days before John’s execution, to persuade him to snuff out John’s voice, and to do so quickly. Mary-Salome had been but one of the nails which sealed the Baptist’s fate. But in her young mind, she had brought a great shame upon her family, especially her mother.
The Mary had been beside herself with grief at the loss of her nephew John, and more especially for her sister Elizabeth, who had prayed for a child for more years than she cared to remember. Above all, she regretted the circumstances that had brought about John’s demise and her daughter’s involvement thereof.
Mary-Salome felt she was the ruin not only of John, but of her own soul. She was dangerously under strain. Overwrought with suicidal thoughts, she came to me seeking forgiveness.
“There can be no going forward from this—I am ruined,” she said, plagued with remorse. She was utterly convinced that her own death might be the only correction for her offense. “No one can forgive me for what I did,” she babbled apologetically, rubbing her brow as if to ward off another headache.
“Yes, Salome, it is true. You trespassed against him,” I said carefully. “It is from the Lord that you should seek forgiveness, for your sin lies with Him alone. Do not underestimate the power of repentance. Beg the Lord for His pardon and make peace with your fate. Your future, whether in this life or the next, will be sealed with a death such as his. That much cannot be escaped, not even by the taking of your own life,” I said uncomfortably, bringing to light the very real threat of her daunting suicide.
“Once you accept responsibility for what you have done—you are free. Every measure of blood, shed by your hand, shall be repaid in equal measure. This may lie heavy on your soul, but eventually your debt will be collected. And when it makes its appearance, you may by then have no memory of what transpired here. Take solace in recognizing that nothing more and nothing less shall be given or taken from you—than that which you executed. There are no mistakes in life, Salome. Every seed sewn inevitably takes root and bears fruit. The Lord is merciful, and He knows your actions were spurred out of love for me . . . and of the violation of John’s own err in judgement,” I promised.
“What hope is there for me now, Mary? My life is over. I am forever to be famed as “that woman” who gave herself to her uncle for the severed Baptist’s head—who was my own kith and kin. I will never be free of this stain upon my soul,” she cried, earnestly distraught. “What good can come of my life now? No man will marry me. I am disgraced. I am to be as a widow, though I am hardly yet a woman,” she premised, unable to meet my eyes.
A wrathful clap of thunder cracked and rolled overhead, as a grievous darkness engulfed our community in a deluge. She gritted her teeth, pressing her lips tightly together. I could see her inner struggle eclipsing my ability to reach past her self-condemnation.
“The Lord has cast me out of His favor, Mary. He is angry with me,” she said, shivering in fear of the storm which pounded at our door. She was half-mad with remorse and humiliation. Despite her impetuous nature, never would I forget how she had avenged me. So great was her love for me. Ultimately, John’s fate had been ordained by the Lord, for not one soul passes from this world without His sanction.
“It was as the Lord willed, Sister,” I said tearfully. “If not you, then Queen Herodias or Caiaphas would soon have found reason enough to force John’s soul to cross the river from life to death,” I said, reaching deep into her gloom with a small ray of hope.
“Atone. Do penance and redeem yourself,” I suggested. “Give your life unto prayer and repentance. Serve those in need, until you find your peace . . . it will come, I promise” I said, clasping her hand firmly in mine. “Tomorrow, go to the priests and beseech them to take you through the rites of second and third initiation. They will help you. Appease the Lord and petition Him. In time, redemption will be yours. Have faith, Sister,” I assured her, “and Salome, remember . . . life is a precious gift. It is not for you to take. That right is with the Lord and the Lord alone,” I reminded her, hoping she would rethink her suicide.
Eventually, in time, Herod Antipas discovered that his mother had been the one who had carefully orchestrated the murder of his older half-brother, Prince Antipater. His mother, a hateful and vengeful woman whom he detested, now lay dead. He was plagued with guilt, for his lust for Salome had led him astray, costing him the head of the Baptist.
Subsequently, he lost numerous wars, which public opinion held, was retribution for John’s death. Blood was both on his hands and on his conscience. He would do anything to undo the wrongs he and his family had done in the name of progress. Living a mediocre life, indulging in sinful pleasure, he felt no happiness. In fact, he felt nothing, other than guilt, which followed him everywhere like a shadow.
Herod Antipas had given Salome what she wanted, not only because he was filled with an overwhelming desire for her, but because of his wicked, evil-minded mother being the cause of all their family’s problems and woes.
He secretly wished more than anything, to see the throne succeed to his half-brother, Jesu, who would have been King, if his mother hadn’t meddled. Now, by removing John, he had killed two birds with one stone . . . Jesu could at least rule the Messianic throne, if not his own.
Herod Antipas was the usurper of his father’s throne, by his mother’s hand. Because of that, he was a troubled man, plagued by a great sickness within his mind. He would do anything to cleanse his soul and ensure his forgiveness. So it was, that the motives for what was to become the greatest story never told, were etched, not onto pages of parchment, but into sentences given on Judgement Day—which no man could break.
The High-Priest visited me in a vision, during Mary-Salome’s dark night of the soul. While she spent the night facing her demons like a terrified child, I was ushered into a pool for baptism. This was no ordinary lake of water, for it was formed of light, like a sea of mist which felt mysteriously cool to the touch. I shivered as its elegant touch, like a stream of silver light, flowed over me. Breaking unbreakable bonds, releasing me from places where utmost pain was the cause of my suffering, I knew that a great unburdening was at hand. I was unmasked and vulnerable.
The High-Priest assured me that this was normal. Cloaking me in a rich velvet burgundy robe, I found myself not clothed by its touch, rather, its embrace exposed me, bringing forward things which were long since hidden—shrouded behind life’s everyday goings-on. I was faced with a thousand mirrors, by which I was to observe and accept myself.
It was then that I first noticed the vast dome-like, fibrous web overhead, examining and auditing my every move. Its impact was immense. I sensed how small I was before the boundless creation, of which I knew so little. Sheltered within its universal network, small purposeful flashes of light seemed to be passing messages from one place to another.
Within the stillness of this sanctuary, I could commune with the gods. For hundreds of eyes watched me as I stared open-mouthed, in fascination. Each eye blinked in perfect coordination, one after the other, like dominoes, practical yet stoic.
“This is the truth of our existence, Mary,” the High-Priest impressed upon me. “Every moment of our bustling lives, is precisely recorded here, to ensure without any measure of a doubt, that our destiny is not left haphazardly to fate. Carefully and with intention, we are granted reactions to our good and bad deeds—fairly meted out to all. What you see here, is the complex labyrinth which encircles us with assured, appropriate and unmistaken dispensation.”
A shudder moved through the system, as if in acknowledgment of his words.
“The Watchers are our benefactors,” he continued. “They have existed since the beginning of time. Regard them well.”
Mesmerized, I watched stored memories, move rivers of life experience from one end of the web to another—organized into future events yet to come.
“Here, we are each of us found responsible for every cause and effect generated by physical encounters we are forgetful of. The actuality of our quest is obscured from us until we finish sinking in our unceasing illusions.
“You have been brought here to expand yourself before the Watchers. To unleash your full potential and rise above the confines of worldly imaginings. The Watchers are our guardians. They protect the map of human accountability via the reflective mirror of truth. We have waited a long time to witness this untarnished truth beside you, so that you might better understand the disguised workings within nature,” he said, gazing up in awe.
I relaxed, allowing my confidence to grow, in what would otherwise be an intimidating experience. Thoughts rustled, moving from one part of the web to another, their maws whispering of stories left behind. Something was stirring. ‘In moments like this, it’s faith that liberates us from our shadows,’ I reflected.
I braved looking into the gigantic complex system once more, to see what was moving through the network at speed, for the sensation of it caused me to feel uneasy. There, I saw two small angels, hunched together, perched upon the fibrous ecosystem. Held within their hands were very long needles, which they used to meticulously sew the torn fabric of my web—severed by grief. Soft hypnotic sounds, like waves, reverberated through the matrix. Its song rang out like silvery water in the first rays of a rising moon. I listened silently, dropping to the ground.
“Hallowed be thy name,” the Watchers echoed. “You are blessed. And by your presence here, we are sanctified and made holy,” they crooned, as a thousand eyes fluttered open and closed. “Your crown is anointed with holy dew, by the sacred rite of this unveiling. Hallowed be thy name, Mary Magdalene. The Lord’s Kingdom is given by your compassionate nature. Therefore, forgive those who trespassed against you, and go forth to deliver the world from evil. Waste not one moment upon the memories of your past. Amein” they rang, “Amein” they replied—their immortal voices like bells, invoked countless blessings.
“As you open to the eternal depths of your soul’s expression of itself, from one life to the next—unlimitedly—you will be reminded of who you truly are,” the High-Priest said. Immediately as he spoke, I sensed the vitality and power dwelling in him, which was beyond the limits of human experience.
“You shall now confront and release the restraints of your past. Deliverance is a privilege, yet it comes with a price. Be willing to face the awkward, humiliated, fearful sides of yourself, which seek comfort in controlled poise,” he said, waving his staff in my direction authoritatively.
A sudden hesitancy came upon me. I was held back by all-too-familiar fearfulness. It hindered my right to experience the full scope of my potential . . . which tugged at me, begging for freedom of expression. ‘Your success depends on being devoid of regard for others’ expectations of you.’ Struggling with myself, something stirred inside of me. Something potent, something ancient. My body shook violently, as I rocked back and forth, whipping my long hair into the air. I determinedly strove to rise above my cowardice, swaying and throbbing passionately from side to side, like a professional wailer—releasing grief.
Vain distractions of the mind, in their entirety, withdrew, recalling for me how faith diminishes such misplaced reasoning. ‘My soul is full of grace,’ I reminded myself, dislocating from repression and limitation. Writhing around in circular movements, round and round, rhythmically, then more and more vigorously—wave after wave of emerging floods of animated spirit flowed through me. I trembled in excitement for the thrill it evoked in me.
“Allow the trial of failure to be yours, Mary. Pardon those who have hindered you, miscalculating your good intentions—fearing your power. Travel between the three realms—of humanity, of the dead, and of God. Between order and chaos, seek the seed and the root. Grind the sharp rocks of iniquity into pebbles, smooth and soft. Blessed be thy feet which walk the earth, Mary. Blessed be thine eyes which perceive the truth of the many realms. Blessed be thy spirit, from which your wisdom shines as a gateway unto the lost sons and daughters of Eve.”
I shook all over without any hint of control upon hearing the High-Priest’s words. I was on the edge of liberating my soul from eons of bygone impotent tears which had burdened it. Trapped inside an atrium of centuries, long since turned to dust, I recognized that I had been living with the scars of my past. Signals pulsed more quickly as I faced my shadows, the Watchers muttering in hushed voices. They seemed to be in two minds as to whether my soul belonged to the ordinance of the new or the old gods.
“Deliver her!” the web eventually hummed.
My head wheeled, circling around like a current, in prayerful dance, just as I had seen the women do at John’s baptisms. I found it cathartic. But the web seemed to doubt me. All could hear it. “How long are we to remain in the shadows and baseness of doubt?” the Watchers inquired, weaving a tale from the depths of my memory formations. Their probing came without warning. There were no secrets hidden. I was as exposed as the ocean is before the sky. Realizing my own shattered frame of reference, the deep rumblings, where the sacred and human fasten, repaired by the angels of mercy who labored hard for my benefit. “Bypass your mind, Mary” the soothing voice of the High-Priest reassured me.
Finally I let it out, beseeching God’s charity, “Shaddai Eloha! Adonai Elohim!”
Collapsing, flesh in all its heaviness had gone and nothing but my spirit remained. Thus did I wake from another remarkable encounter, trembling and sweating. My vulnerability comforted.
The Ark of the Covenant was the most worshipped and safely guarded sacred object of our time. It was said to have been kept in utmost secrecy, concealed within the Jerusalem temple’s shadowy subterranean tunnels in a chamber known as the “Well of Souls.”
There, beneath the first temple of King Solomon, son of King David, the Temple Mount itself was rife with a network of forty-five cisterns, chambers, tunnels, and caves. The Well of Souls was known only to the Ark’s guardians, who were a secret group of Knights known as the First Order of Solomon.
Originally made of wood, the Knights had chosen Benjamin, The Mary’s father, to build a stone structure to protect the aging wooden Ark from the ravages of nature and time. Benjamin was a lineage man, from King David himself. Famed in the temple for his ability to carve wood, stone, and metal into marvelous patterns, as a dedicated member of the First Order—he was sworn to protect the most holy of holy objects.
Once the stone case was completed, the Ark was placed within it. Its exterior was then coated in a hard shell of pure gold, which Benjamin meticulously chiseled into effigies of angels, sacred symbols, and images depicting the Ark’s extraordinary historical journey.
The Mary had known of the Ark through her father.
She was fortunate to have laid eyes upon this most holy object when she was but a child, for Benjamin believed his daughter, Miryam, to be destined for great things and he wished for her to receive the Ark’s blessings.
Little did Benjamin realize, that this act would be the measure by which the Lord beatified her. Being endowed by the Ark’s legendary power, she was consecrated and considered most fortunate among women—thus was the Messiah selected for Miryam as a son.
Lore claimed that the Ark promised unlimited riches, fame, power, and divine wisdom, to any who beheld its holiness. It was believed to be a supremely magical article holding the secrets of the Almighty. Some even claimed that it offered a gateway to the Kingdom itself. The Knights feared that should the Ark ever be found, it could be used as a dangerous weapon against humanity. For they understood that where there is the greatest light, darkness surely follows close behind. Therefore, the Ark was on a twenty-four-hour watch by the elite members of the secret order, who prayed in its presence for the duration of their contemplative vigil.
One day the Knights agreed that the time had come for the Ark to be moved from Temple Mount, to another, safer, hideaway. The Mary’s father, Benjamin, died on the spot where the Ark once stood. He had spent a lifetime protecting it, and when it left, his life was spent. He was given a royal burial, which The Mary could only envision within her tear-filled imaginations—for she could not risk her life, grieving as a daughter would for her father’s soul. Nor could she risk the precious life of her son Jesu. Not even to bury her esteemed father—for her cover would be blown.
The Mary was well loved and respected. Through her sufferings, she had become a devout lady, always uttering prayers, singing songs of the ancient ones and studying esoteric texts. The fight was gone from her. She knew that as God willed it, so would it be. People henceforth sought her out for spiritual counsel and she became great among the ladies.