by Krishna Rose
A letter came from Brother James. Rome was on fire. Both Peter and Paul were arrested—blamed for starting the fires which blazed. Paul was beheaded and Peter crucified. I fasted rigorously for weeks afterward, taking only a handful of water unto myself. Though these enigmatic characters had at times caused me strife, still I grieved the brutality of their passing and prayed fervently for their deliverance.
Occasionally, in the quiet of my prayerful meditation, I was bestowed with visions of angels, who came before me, curious of this woman living alone in a cave doing penance. My body felt hollow. If I were to gaze at my reflection, I feared what I might see, for I tended not to the physical, having given myself entirely to the spirit within. I had taught my mind to focus on the meeting point of my soul and the Kingdom. Soon my steadiness never wavered.
My senses had ensnared me in my life, and now as I withdrew from them like a tortoise withdrawing into its shell, my senses sought desperately for a way to find relief from their starvation. They reminded me of young children who screamed loudly to get attention. It was amusing at first, yet soon I disciplined them, so that they behaved as I willed.
I remained determined, though my stomach growled. My heart hurt and my body ached—still I was steadfast. I would not take one morsel to my mouth until a vision of Kingdom was given me.
My eyes wept, when I thought of Jesu and of the things he tolerated for mankind’s sake.
Jesu wrote to me:
Marjan,
I was born to this world from the hereafter, hopeful of delivering a way by which to relieve souls from their repeated regeneration and death. The vows I took, were like guides, by which I navigated my soul from the world which otherwise would have bound me. Prayers and the Lord’s name, which is holy, hath been my compass. But the vows have been my map.
Jesu
I was overwhelmed upon reading such simple truth. Our yearnings mingled together upon the pages of our confessions to one another.
Jesu,
Thy fair face is as yet, still far from me, while every second we shared has become an ancient memory. We are one kind of people, two sides of the same coin, two branches of the same tree, like a flower and a bee.
Dignity, they may have torn from us, as time and man hunts us across the years like silent killers—launching attacks upon us and our brethren. But let us not speak of bags and bones, which I leave upon the altar like a lit flame which must eventually die—like I.
Your ever loving,
Marjan
One fine day, the other-worldly sound of shofar horns blowing, echoed through the valley. I decidedly threw on a tunic, gathered up my shawl, braided my hair and made my way into town. The marketplace was filled with feasting and the people were talkative. It was Purim, therefore many were dressed in costumes and masks, with festive parades through the town’s main street.
I had been a recluse for some time, so my senses were especially acute. I took in the sights, sounds, and smells, and they evoked in me reminiscences of our life in Judea. I recognized some of the women and went to join them as they sang their songs, playing on hand drums, rattling bells.
“Mariam is here!” I heard a familiar voice say. “Mariam, is that you?” she said, as a friendly hand came upon my bony shoulder.
“Yes, it is I,” I said, turning to face Joanna.
We hadn’t seen one another since Jesu and I had left Ephesus, many years before. We embraced eagerly, old friends reunited once more. Joanna was also of noble birth, being the granddaughter of Theophilus, the high priest. She was married to Chuza, who at one point had managed the household of Herod Antipas, Jesu’s half-brother. They both had been big supporters of our cause. Financially and otherwise.
“I wasn’t sure if it was you. You look so different,” she said facetiously, nudging me in my half-starved ribs. “I heard a rumor that you had returned to these parts and are now living in the caves. Is that so?” she said eyeing me up and down.
“Yes, I find it good for my soul,” I replied, feeling somewhat embarrassed.
“Well, it’s a real treat to see you again, Mariam—or is it Mary?” she said excitedly.
“Yes, I go by Mary now. It is true Joanna, that I live inside a cave. I felt the call of the wilderness in my bones. After being raised with much wealth and privilege, shedding my attachments has been like skinning my own flesh. To be honest, it has not always been easy. But the inward journey had always called me, as well you know. Now, I drink where angels drink,” I said, with a broad smile.
I was happy. I was really happy!
“Mary, you’ll always be a princess to me!” Joanna gleamed excitedly.
“Yes well, even princesses have to leave this world and its possessions behind. Death comes to us all . . .” I said, reminding her of this truth.
She laughed nervously. “Yes, what you say is true.”
A long awkward silence ensued.
After a while, I broke my silence. “I live an entirely different life now, Joanna,” I said, re-braiding the ends of my hair with my worn fingers. “I have travelled the world and have seen all that this world has to offer. I have birthed and raised three children, giving all of myself to my family and my husband’s mission,” I admitted. “Yet now, I fill myself not of things seen with these two eyes Joanna, but of the world which cannot be seen without the stillness of solitude.”
“Hmm, sounds intriguing,” she said, seeming suddenly melancholy, as if I had touched something deep inside of her.
“Have hope Sister,” I told her. “You too have been blessed. Your eyes are tainted with understanding, for you were there—you saw and heard our Master, Joanna. Take time for yourself that you may fill the ague in you.”
“You will always be the most beautiful woman I have ever known Mariam . . . oops . . . I mean Mary—inside and out. You are a ray of inspiration for all of us women. I wish I had half of your strength and willpower!” she professed.
I thanked her, telling her “My dear Sister, know this—what you claim to see in me, is also there in you. We are equal in beauty, strength and willpower, for not one of us is set above the other,” I reminded her.
“You are so special, Mary,” she said kindly.
“So are you, Joanna,” I replied, both of us letting out a satisfied sigh.
My sister Martha was now an old lady. Her bones ached and she tired easily. Still, she cared for others more than herself. And though her body was strong, she was weak from her tiresome work in the villages, healing the sick and caring for those in need.
A flash of guilt hastened across my heart—I had abandoned her. I must see her, since who knows when we would be together again . . . time had seemingly become lost to us now.
Joanna and I set off together, walking in the direction of my sister’s home. The smell of fresh baked bread and cakes drifted down the lane, and I knew Martha was in her kitchen. No doubt she fed the local children who played in the streets, kicking balls and juggling. That was how she was. Always sharing what she made and giving to others before herself.
Martha appeared at the window. Her face could not hide her joy upon seeing me. We held one another close in a warm embrace—an exchange of energies, of sorrows and of pains—until, in awe of one another, we held hands and entered her small but cozy kitchen. She made tea and served us slices of sweet fig cake to eat. How I had missed my sister’s good company!
Sitting together, we told each other tales of our travels, as well as our shared love of helping others. This was Jesu’s specialty, which set him apart from all others, for no one cared for the sick and needy as he did—and this was something he had instilled in us all. Martha was full of courage. She was free of all responsibilities and
had resolved her life to caring for others. She wept as she opened up about the despair in people’s lives.
So much time had passed between us. She told me stories of our mother, and I shared with her my visions.
“Lazarus has become Bishop of Marseille,” she said proudly. “And Mary-Salome is a wonderful mother and helper. She and the children serve the people in our brother’s flock with every last breath.
“Our brother has become great, as the things he has seen, no man should ever see with these eyes,” I said. “I too have seen such things, and I have seen the consequences of sin,” I told her tearfully, as I described to her my most secret crossings.
Joanna and I spent the afternoon helping Martha distribute food to the poor, healing and blessing them. Many came forward for baptism, and Martha spoke to them appealingly. It reminded us of the old days, when we were young and fresh, filled with energy for fervent sermonizing.
It was the last time I would see them.
CHAPTER 31
HELL—VEIL ONE
The Dance of the Seven Veils
What has been called a descent into the underworld, is best defined as the seeking of freedom through a quest into the unknown corners of the inner self. There, we must face seven veils of illusions which have bound and chained our souls since the beginning of time. These are the veils which separate us from humble purity—the gateway of pure devotion.
No one can hide from the truth, for that is the essence of who we are. I knew, that for my soul to transcend fear and the falsities of this world, the shield and armor I had worn as protection would have to break apart. By now they had almost merged with my identity. So familiar was I with them, that they had grown to become a part of me—shielding me from the hardships of this world, but also masking those inclinations which had infused me with forgetfulness of who I am.
I have hung between worlds for too long. Encountering the seven veils would be an essential sacrifice if I were to succeed. Wiping away the teardrops which had gathered like dew upon my cheeks, I felt so much compassion for myself. The trials and tribulations ahead might at times be agonizing, even unbearable. But I was determined. There was no other way. First, I was to confront the seven veils of Hell—to realize the truth and plight of human struggle entirely. Subsequently, I would be presented with seven veils of Heaven, wherein the rewards of integrity and devotion would be revealed. There were no comforts found within the thorny realities of existence. My heart throbbed hard in my chest, and I felt a motherly tenderness toward myself.
Anger was there in my face. I could feel it. Stern, harsh, unexpressed anger, had created lines on my face which do not lie. Given all the marked injustices in our world—I felt rage in my bones toward those miserly creatures who walk the earth destroying all that is good and innocent. Out of a need to have dominance over others, with brute force, these creatures, whom I dare not call human, crush peacefulness from the living, again and again, with their policies and bloodshed.
The froth of such rulers lives were spent in the creation of laws, which, spewed out on society, all must accept. So few have the courage to question these leaders’ influence and authority over the populace—Jesu and John had been two such heroic warriors. Often, in spite of their barbarity, such leaders are esteemed within the villages, temples, churches, aristocratic classes and governments—places where prestige is readily available and evil so easily hidden.
Fury toward their injustices had lived in me like a force of hatred—for centuries. I had grown so comfortable with it, that I no longer noticed its presence. We all build with our own hands, scales which tip one way or the other. Not by their will, but by our own. Divine justice . . . it comes to us all. The Almighty is a most expert surgeon. Those who faithlessly deny Him, in deeds and in words, are tossed about in the hurricane of estrangement and misfortune, like dirty washing, in hopes of their recovery. Then, out of great mercy, He sends to them courageous souls who distribute wisdom to the fallen—calling them to His confidential realm.
Out of love for the Lord, I was ready to accept the weighty challenges laid out before me. For His pleasure, I would willingly accept any difficulty.
Blame is a wearisome load to carry, yet seldom is it shed. As I relinquished such quarrel from the marrow of my thinking, my eyes became less sad and my face less angry. My downward-turned mouth, turned up.
I remembered my father, on whose knee I had sat upon, and whose beard I had twisted and pulled with my fingers as a child. I thought of my mother, who had died giving birth to me. And I recalled John, who, in spite of it all—I loved. I thought of my deep allegiance to, and longing for Jesu and our children. Separated, restricted by time, our union had been predestined. Just as the sun and moon are united by light—so were we. Yet all these bindings would ultimately have to be undone, as I must ‘die’ to live. This was to be my crucifixion and my sacrifice.
Sensing the true loneliness of spirit, which as yet was still caught betwixt worlds—I prayed for guidance. ‘This is a sacred loneliness,’ I thought, ‘for there is no beginning or end to my soul’s existence. I must now choose to surrender either to life or to death.’
Sentiments came and went like rays of beauty in the darkness of the cavern I now knew as ‘home.’ Fear, disapproved of my liberation and looked on angrily. Such is the unrelenting gravity of the lonely soul who dares leave behind all that is familiar—for a greater chance at the treasure of deliverance.
“The Kingdom is at hand,” I heard Jesu’s encouraging words.
‘Yes, the Kingdom is within me, but how do I attain it? Where is it?’
“You are a Woman in Red—a Messianic Mistress—The Mary! All doors are opened. Seek, and ye shall find.”
The status of a Woman in Red, afforded women of the priestly classes—spiritual power. Only the most revered women in society donned red robes to signify their authority on matters of spirit. I realized that this had been my destiny all along. Through my story, women would one day be free. The world would change and womankind would rise up to become the leaders of society. What a privilege it would be to leave such a legacy. In my heart, I knew that there had been signs of this in my youth. The three of us, Jesu, John, and I, all thrown together by fate. Each destined to become great supporters of the cause together—our meeting as children was undeniably not by chance.
The mightiest challenge we face, is to enter the Kingdom. Yet it extends to us an absolute means of both relieving ourselves of death and the grief death brings. It is the hidden purpose behind all of creation. I relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief, freeing myself of an age-old anxiety which had plagued me for centuries. ‘This is why there is a creation at all. It’s the very reason we exist.’
“Close your eyes,” I heard Jesu’s hopeful voice whisper.
With eyes fixed firm, I descended inward. My slow and steady heartbeat was strong. Following its primordial sound, I climbed inside myself. Aiming for the holy Kingdom, I latched my thoughts upon it, hooking my soul upon its shores like a fisherman. A light immediately came upon the blank canvas of my conscience . . . so I followed it. And as I reached the light, there before me were many paths to choose from. I decided on one, listening to the voice of my instinct.
Suspended between day and night, between the breath and silence, I could see everything clearly now. Every ill-conceived deception. Every attachment. Every illusion.
Two slow-moving rivers, one on each side of the path, beckoned me to follow their flow. In the distance, a sweet sensation called me like a forgotten friend. My mission was clear. I would find the Kingdom or I would never be free of this ague.
The smell of damp earth and fallen leaves had a distinctively calming effect on a lifelong fear that had sorrowfully prevented me and misled me, into the visible things of this ea
rth by which to comfort myself with. There were voices ahead . . . whisperings of what was to come.
A crimson light swept through the forested floor like an amiable presence, halting all human thought. Shadowing the natural course of the rivers, I came upon a quaint wooden bridge and crossed over it. On the other side was a heavenly meadow, where green grass grew that was soft beneath my naked feet. Its flowers garnished me with their subtle honeyed fragrances, filling my senses. The babbling brook had a hypnotic quality to it, so I sipped its water and found it refreshing.
I was neither of this, nor of that world. I was somewhere between. I half expected someone to come. But no one came. By the shores of these mysteries, I heard a whisper within the rustling of autumn leaves, allusively drawing my attention—implying that I was to follow their lead. Hence I stepped upon a path which continued on through the dense forest, leaving the other one behind, immediately sensing its significance.
Lanterns lighted my way, hanging upon the trees forked branches which called to mind—human hands.
“See the sadness that dwells beneath your righteous anger,” a voice reminded me.
There was a sacredness to the air. As if its pores, like a skin, had incarnated and invited me to touch it. I watched as it flickered, changing colors from glowing gold to saffron, then back to gold again. As it stirred, I felt the world of flesh slip away and with it—my rage. A vast ocean of displeasure lifted from me as I ceased identifying with the physical world. I received a holy understanding by it—of the strength the spirit actually has over the flesh.
A warm, pleasing sound in the distance came closer—a voice that called my name over and over with great longing. The sky warmed into a gorgeous magenta, its effulgence enfolding me in its embrace—clothing me. He was here. I could feel Him. He was everywhere and nowhere. His eyes were on me, coming at me from all directions. My name floated on the air, whispering my name, “Mary . . .”