by Krishna Rose
The fold of the islands’ framework vibrated in prayer—holding holy scripture within its beating heart, as verses from the ancient languages spiraled pleasingly in the air, displaying virtue, knowledge, and wisdom. As the clans of these islands meditated or spoke the words of God—words, like scrolls, appeared in the sky, oscillating slowly and then more quickly, until everyone in the audience was drowned in their truths. Upon receiving such joyous blessings, they sang and danced in ecstasy, leaping in the air, overwhelmed with emotion—losing all sense of themselves entirely. I had never seen such a rapturous gathering.
“Jesu!” I said breathlessly, upon seeing him among the flock of happy souls. He saw me and paused. He recognized my spirit and we connected, forgetful of our earthly connection—yet evidently unified.
“He does not know you, for in this world, he has left all earthy connections behind. He recognizes you, yet does not know you. Now come before we disturb him,” he said, leading me away before I became too attached.
“The greatest teachers of all time, take turns preaching and learning from one another, while the fortunate dwellers of these islands listen and ascend. These sages do not come to show that their way is better than any other, but to safeguard and preserve their truths in sound vibrations which minister to aspiring practitioners of faith.
“The blessings generated here, rain down on the inhabitants of earth within the rays of the sun and moon, the fabric of which is shaped by the sacred dawn of scripture. The unified message between paths are its fruit, and are at every moment accessible to all, not only to those of any particular religion,” he said defensively. “And even though the multitudes are unaware, still they are bathed charitably in the holiness of these most compassionate teachers whose power comes from the bleeding heart of their compassion.”
Jesu, who had been sitting in meditation, munificently began reciting the word of God. Holy scriptures began to spin around him, adorning his passion, and upon opening his eyes, the ancient truths, flooded into his body, leaving him wailing in great yearning. I burst into tears, for I was so near yet so far from him—again.
A chariot, pulled by winged horses, came to carry us to the edge of the fragrant golden sea. I turned from Jesu with an ache in my heart and a gratefulness for having seen him here, knowing full well that this would be his idea of Heaven.
“A part of him always remains here, for he has and always will have the upper hand in matters of the heart,” Cherubim said plainly.
The muscular horses arched their necks, expanding their feathery limbs at a smooth canter, at first slowly and in a collected way, and then at full gallop. Their graceful wings swam up and down in rhythmic union. Our father had told us stories of the Egyptian and Greek creatures and gods. Here I saw that they were true. ‘How would I ever explain these experiences to anyone?’ I thought to myself.
Jesu would understand. He always did.
CHAPTER 40
HEAVEN—VEIL THREE
The Hospital
The world cries out for compassion and mercy. She felt the prophecy stir within her and returned to the world of form, humbly accepting the mantle of sacred duty. Taking deep gasps of breath, she returned to the physical, to be the voice of honesty and temperance—
and to bring light to the people’s hearts.
My steps lightened, for we had come upon a gate of Jade. It opened as we approached and Cherubim led me into a garden of daffodils which fluttered nervously between the protective rowan and birch—trees of new beginnings. Passing over an aged drawbridge, we crossed a peculiar river—peculiar in that it flowed backwards.
“Keep up, Mary,” Cherubim chimed, always three steps ahead of me. “I have someone I wish for you to meet. He is the bleeding heart of the Elders—from beyond the veil,” he said ambiguously.
In the vale, many flaxen-haired maidens sat weaving in a field of sunflowers, singing sweet songs by the river’s edge. Overhead an iridescent rainbow straddled the sky. The waters from the river, churned within the wheel of life, which was the cause of the water flowing in reverse. Close by, amid the blush of spring’s newly blossomed bluebells, stood a formidable mottled tree with long moss-coated roots. An old man was seated there, his white hair was long like the river beside which he was sitting. Tied upon the tree’s branches, which stretched upward, were many bright strips of ribbon which flickered in the breeze.
“Those are the wishes of the Saints,” Cherubim told me, pointing to the strips of cloth, as if reading my thoughts. “Each time the wind catches the ribbons, making them dance—their hopes and prayers spread into the air and over the landscape, sending blessings in all directions.”
The old man was quiet. His stillness affected me in a way that made my spirit draw inward. He seemed to be expecting my arrival, like an ancient relative whose eyes bore down deep into the cauldron of my soul.
Just as spring ignites a fire of color upon the mantle of green throughout the lands, his presence kindled in me a deep appreciation for nature. The arched boughs and weaving twine, writhed, as if dancing to the musical voices of the flaxen-haired maidens as they caroled melodiously. We continued on, making our way down the narrow mossy path, past a carpet of fragrant flowers swaying on both sides of the trail. The ground beneath my feet was soft and dewy.
“Let go of everything, Mary. Be here right now in this place. Immerse yourself in the experience, for you are about to encounter a divine decree,” Cherubim intimated, as we came upon the old man who invited us to sit before him, on a rug. Cherubim bowed respectfully. I sensed the import of this moment by the atmosphere, which was tangibly significant. Instinctively I knew this place was a borderland between worlds. His silky white hair tangled down, covering his nakedness. He was undeniably beautiful, yet undeniably old. The lines on his face spoke of his great wisdom, while the gnarled tree behind him, dripped and throbbed with ambiguity.
“Salutations, Mary Magdalene,” he said hospitably. “You are here by virtue of your liminal crossroads. Ask what you will.”
Listening to the stirrings of my heart, I asked him, “What am I to do, and how am I to do it?” The words fell from my mouth, as if he had magically stolen them from the innermost chapel of my mind.
“To perceive divine personalities—see through the eyes of the heart. If you can understand these mysteries . . . then there is no more mystery,” the old man said cryptically. As he spoke, a white lotus flower grew, opening up before him. Picking it, he rolled it between his rugged fingers, contemplating its miracle. Shaking his head, the knotted tree behind him also shuddered. My skin prickled in the mysteriousness of it all.
He began chanting an incantation and all the animals of the forest hastened, scampering to come hear him sing. Gathering in and around the mossy tree, they listened intently with ears pricked, eagerly harkening his voice which lingered in the air like ripples on water. The unusual, yet alluring sound, buzzed and flowed through me. I could feel him exploring, delving into every hidden crevice, attempting to ascertain the will of Heaven concerning my visit.
I blinked in surprise as the lotus disappeared from his hand, soon thereafter materializing in my own palm in a burst of fire. I was acutely aware of the fact that he seemed to be inside of my mind, speaking to me in a hushed, confidential voice. Time and space slowed. The rivers paused, though the ripples on their surface still quivered. All of nature was at a standstill, as if rooted to the spot.
“The Lord had plans and a destiny in mind for you before you were ever placed into your mother’s womb,” he said prognostically.
“He wrote the expectation and design of your life upon the canvas of your soul, assigning you your destiny. Though you had no notion of its mystery. You have been treasured with a divine promise and there is a great shaking in the hearts of many,”
he mused. “The angels of Heaven wish to campaign alongside of you, against the demonic forces that control earth.”
I shuddered excitably at the thought of it.
“The stewards of Heaven wrestle not with flesh and blood, but against the rulers of darkness—against their wicked influence over the glorious soul. Human beings were not born to be weak minded, yet they have been overthrown by weaknesses of the flesh, which restrain them. They are cowardly, lacking in courage. They choose faithlessness and submit themselves to changeable fashions of thought. Now they are like slaves to immoral thinking, having allowed the eclipse of vice to overthrow them.
“The evil ideal holds no power where the Lord has poured forth His protection. Therefore, Mary Magdalene, allow us to unite with you in your fight against their evil. Together, let us cure corruption with the light of truth, which is the only medicine the soul recognizes. The Lord is the cause of each creature’s existence, and humanity is naturally relieved by any identification with Him,” he reasoned.
The air chilled. The branches of the gnarled tree froze over, its leaves falling to the ground like the steady rumble of thunder—and winter all at once swathed the land with its icy breath.
“Morality will be without hesitation conceived and digested by your persuasion, Mary Magdalene,” he said, in a strange gravelly accent. His words unhinged me. The forbidden spirit of doubt, rained down on my ideal, enkindling disbelief in my ability to succeed.
“Do not mistrust yourself. Break the chains of your illusions. This is the one solid truth of your existence which was written in the stars. It is the divine moral truth of who you are—for your decree is born of God’s will,” he said thoughtfully. Shuffling noises from beneath the undergrowth, disturbed the elegant silence, and the old man leaned forward to tickle the scuttling rabbits who played beneath the crackling leaves.
I grew pale, for there fell a shadow upon my soul. A wavering of uncertainty—as if he had drawn it out from the bed of a deep pond. He smiled serenely—knowingly.
“What if I’m not good enough?” I asked shamefully, staring into the dreary abyss of my own uncertainty.
“Your qualm is misplaced, for the Lord knows the design of your life better than you,” he said soberly, twisting his long beard between the fingers of his right hand.
“Self-doubt must have crept in on me while I was sleeping,” I said regretfully. “The world scrutinizes everything. It watches with pained, condemning, critical eyes—the effects of which have consumed me with a hesitancy that clings to me in the depths of my soul,” I explained, as if the old man had rooted out that which was still hidden inside of me.
“Mary!” he shouted, waking me from my bitter charnel. “There is no room for doubt in the Lord’s work! Trust in the ancestral vault of the blood that runs in your veins, which, from temples of old, flow like a virtuous river of a thousand diamonds. Be blessed by the inner-fires of your devotion, daughter of Eve. The forces of darkness feed upon your quandary, so shrug them off as one flicks a fly from one’s arm. Put your mind to the task at hand and believe in yourself. For the Lord knows inherently each soul’s assigned duty. Therefore, act, as by Him all things are made possible,” he said, springing to his feet suddenly, shaking off the ice and snow which had settled on his locks.
Instantly the tree bloomed. It was as if spring had suddenly sprung. Streams of light again saturated the dale like a revelation, and I embraced the warmth of the sun.
“Your fears brought about a freeze,” he said, plucking another mystery from my soul.
His words were like jewels, casting rays of conviction, removing any hint of darkness which had kept me hindered. Like a treasure that is obtained only by grace of a pure teacher, the import of his words revealed themselves as truth within my heart, cutting asunder the knots of any doubt that had remained. ‘Such are the words of a pure master. They are our true wealth, for they have power to effect change.’
“Tell all to sit at the feet of God, that their enemies, and the enemies of the spirit of goodness, may not find and devour them. Teach the people to abide by Him and to be watchful of the siege that waits in the shadows to seek advantage over them when they are fragile or have appetite. The demonic realms wish more than anything to overtake and dethrone the Lord from the people’s hearts so that they might rule over them and commit them to slavery.
“The things of the spirit are not seen with natural eyes. Knowing this, the demons are keen to confuse humankind with many unnatural distractions which cause delay for the soul. That is when they snatch the throne of God from the people’s hearts! For humans are so easily overcome—very quickly they forget their true purpose entirely. The lurking demonic Kingdoms have for generations harassed us. They do not hesitate to wreak havoc upon the free and the chaste. They have refused to submit to the Lord’s supreme authority—and they refuse to be silent!” the old man said bitterly.
He raised up his arm and the flaxen-haired maidens changed their tune to a haunting melody—like that of an elixir for the soul. The tree’s blooms shivered. Birdsong tumbled through the skies, heralding the ripening approach of strangers to Heaven, while the throbbing heart of nature beat hard and steady.
“It is the divine play between the darkness and light that I now wish to reveal to you,” he said zealously, as a thundering sound suddenly filled the air, sending the birds into a panic. The dimly lit skies in the shadowy light, opened up, revealing the arched vault of Heaven, which was boundless, yet somehow enclosed in a utopian arc.
A swarming darkness advanced upon us, as the battle cries of a million soldiers could be heard resounding through the firmaments of Heaven. “The demonic forces approach,” Cherubim explained. I felt uneasy at first, but soon I became agitated by their boldness, as I saw the fearful darkness flitting in the shadows. It was as if the infinite hells had risen up to fight and destroy all that was good and beautiful in Heaven.
When the moon rose, trumpets, bugles and drums filled the air. A loathsome mass of putridity signaled the arrival of evil. The Emperor of Heaven was carried on a palanquin before the angelic soldiers who had gathered together to fight and they roared with inspiration upon seeing their pure master before them.
Millions of gnashing teeth and flashing fires came from the brutish beasts of Hell as they surged upon the angelic forces in ever-accumulating heaps of advances. The angels, united in their defense, seemed to tolerate their invasion with a knowing confidence. They struck me as perceiving no danger, for they already knew the outcome. Even so, they were prepared for battle.
The winds were suddenly intolerably hot—laden with the fiery exhalations of the beasts’ devilish breath, like heated iron from the belly of Satan himself. The extreme fury of their carnality was beyond wildest imagination. “Damn you!” they howled, as they flew towards the heavenly heights from the darkness below.
The angels stood noble and strong, while the vortex of rage, like an angry storm, came up to meet them. I clenched my fists, wishing I could do battle alongside these brave guardians of holiness. My pulse pounding in the hollows of my soul.
In the midst of the wicked and violent attack, the Seraphim, Cherubim, Archangels, and Thrones, glided smoothly into the madness with their swords and shields at the ready. Fighting against the sons of evil, their weapons met in thunderous collisions, each strike begetting lightning bolts, which like craters in the sky, came crashing deep into the atmosphere in roaring firebolts. So considerable were they, that on earth, these same fierce blasts of lightning and thunder could be seen—though its residents knew not what mighty war had caused such a storm.
I flinched, remembering the storms in Judea which had struck such fear in our hearts as children. Now I realized their source and considered how misunderstood the creation is.
Armies of heavenly sol
diers rushed forward at a precise moment in time. The peace and tranquility of Heaven, broken. Vengeance was the order of the day. I was rigid with shock as the brutality of the darkness assaulted the light. I felt immensely protective over the angelic warriors as they resisted the attack, heart and soul.
Noble orders and courtiers sat ringside to regard the combat from a safe distance. Even the demonic Kings arrived, riding upon their flying serpents to watch from an apex. This was entertainment for them!
Cherubim explained to me that these wars were fought with regularity. “The demons never relent in their attempt to capture the heavens for their own enjoyment,” he said, his jaw tightening as he spoke of it. I strained to hear him, for the ground beneath us shook—quaking loudly.
The old man’s fists shook toward the devils who had come to overpower them—the squirrels, hedgehogs, birds, and rabbits, huddled together for shelter at his feet.
“The gods are well prepared for trouble,” Cherubim shouted, as the land trembled more violently. “The demons are always orbiting the earth and heavens hopeful of a new siege. But their vicious attempts, are forever thwarted by the fire of the Lord’s grace, which breathes power and anointment into the ambassadors of Heaven. Love cannot by any means be touched by their enviousness.”
The armies flew overhead like a whirling sea of flames, while the angelic legions righteously protected the Lord’s guests and lands with their incantations and weapons of divine destruction—possessively guarding the will of the Lord. Flashes of light struck back and forth, as weapons of mass destruction flamed and hounded after each other. Sin chased after purity, to catch it unbeknownst, but purity drove away the darkness of sin by its blinding power. No matter how hard the beasts tried, they were constantly thwarted, as strategically, the fearsome, tumultuous weapons exploded left, right and center.