by Krishna Rose
“Therefore, when you do battle in our name, carry the banner bearing our inscription upon your hearts and set straight the lies.”
With my right hand, which held the keys for them to touch and kiss, I encouraged and blessed them. “Paradise is yours, my children,” I said, baptizing each of them upon their brow and crown as they came forward faithfully.
Benedictions coerced through me in auspicious hopefulness, and as the last of them came forward, the promise of expectancy was upon everyone’s mind. Once I had recovered myself a little, my gaze fell upon one man who stood at the far end of the hall. He was different from the others, for he was dark and brooding, unlike the citizens of Heaven. The King stood up upon noticing him, leaving quickly, as the court chorused, “God bless the King!”
“I told you it would be something special,” Cherubim chimed agreeably.
“Who is that man at the back of the room Cherubim?” I asked, motioning with my eyes toward the mysterious man who filled the air with a darkness that chilled me to my bone.
“Lucifer . . .” he replied nonchalantly.
“How is that Lucifer came to Heaven?”
“The Lord allows him to come and go at will, but he cannot influence or do harm here.”
I wiped a tear from my eye, feeling quite overwhelmed by the accolade I had encountered. The experience had been so engrossing and unusual.
Thirteen maidens came for me, leading me to a chamber of great beauty where they readied a decorative bed for me to rest upon. Many ladies of the court came forward to present jewels and the richest gifts to me—faithfully ready to lay down their lives for our cause. I refused each of the luxuries, one by one, thanking them, accepting only their hearts as offerings by which to justly tend the earthly souls—united in our undertaking.
I lay back on the bed gratefully, the maidens cradling my head with the softest pillow, covering me in a blanket of finest cloth. Jeanne d’Arc sat at the foot of my bed reverently, like a daughter.
Finally closing my eyes, I drifted off into a satisfied sleep.
CHAPTER 42
HEAVEN—VEIL FIVE
The God-Child
Find victory over temptation and resolve yourself to sleep no more. Refine your life within the crucible of tribulation, which has come to abate and reform you. Discouraged by the mire of self-remedy, do not be so blind as not to see the faults in you which need correction. Treasure the wellspring of blessings offered unto you and be renewed in holy inspiration. Let thy desires not draw you away, nor thy worries dishearten thee, for the gates of divine life are open that
you shall have nourishment.
I woke to find myself in the center of a pastoral garden filled with blooms, where thousands upon thousands of angels worshipped with their hands in the air. A tree with teardrops for leaves, chimed delicately as the warm breeze kissed their skin, the charming sound was crystal clear like a thousand bells embedded in melodious tones.
Beneath the roots of the tree, lay an open book. As I reached for it, a warm stream of honey ran down the back of my throat. I could see, outlined in crimson, my name—“Mary Magdalene: Servant of God.” Its thick pages of gold and silver, revealed a pictorial record of my life. Even my thoughts were here recorded for the gods to see. I watched curiously, as depictions of my life were vividly replayed upon the book’s pages. Light was there, etched within each deed, casting blessedness upon my soul. It was clear to see, that every inch of my life had been imbued with devotion to God. Noticing the absence of shadows—for the Lord was with me, His protective light shone on all sides.
People prayed and were uttering chants in their own tongue. I had not noticed them, for they were still as statues—entranced. Cherubim whispered for me to look more closely at their faces, and as I did so, I recognized Abraham, Moses, Elijah, Judah, Ruth, Esther, and others. Somehow I knew who they were. They looked different than how I had imagined them. These were the heroes of my people. I struggled to fathom the intense excitement I felt upon seeing them now—even from a distance.
“The urgency of prayers needed for those who suffer—absorbs them completely,” he explained. These were the redeemers and champions of our clan! I watched, speechless, as empathic surges of power and clemency showered down upon the souls on earth by way of their prayers—whoosh! whoosh! Rivers of mercy, sending self-sacrificing goodness, as charity, upon the faithful.
At the north, south, east, and western points of the garden, denizens of Heaven were concentrated upon a mother and child nestled inside the sanctum of a golden couch with many pillows. “This is the Queen of Heaven who receives the prayers coming to Heaven from earth,” Cherubim said, as a hush cloaked the land.
“And the child?” I asked.
“Kana—the God-child. He is here to receive people’s dedicated devotions in the form of His mother’s milk—the mercy of God is never withheld from those who seek to obtain it. The Queen, His mother, nurtures her child with the supplications of those who yearn for the Lord’s assistance. Saturated by maternal concern for her son and His creation, they are here to receive and answer humankind’s petitions.
Watchful with purpose and dedication, the Lord cradles in His mother’s lap, thirsting to taste the yearnings of His people. Drinking the divine ambrosia that gushes forth from Her nursing breast as a fount, the Lord digests the invocations and pleas of humanity.
“Are all prayers answered because this form of God is listening?” I asked, perceiving His infinite ability to be in many places at once.
“If the supplication is uttered from the lips of the pure ones, as they are to be known, then yes, Kana, the God-child, hears and fulfills their appeals,” he answered.
“So what of those prayers not uttered from the lips of pure ones?” I asked, perplexed by his response.
“They are heard and ministered to by the Saints and Prophets . . .” he said, pointing towards my people’s ancestors.
“Is this child, God Himself?” I asked, grasping for understanding.
“Mary, what you see here is but one manifestation of the Supreme Being. He is here in this form, though He is also everywhere in other forms, to receive adorations, devotions, and constant appeals from limitless corners of creation. His existence and physical identity is not limited in any way. Being the source, He appears here in but a partial manifestation of His full nature. We know Him as Kana, while in other universes and dimensions He is known by other names—all of which are glorious, complete, and imbued with divine power. A person of faith who utters any one of the Lord’s names, is immediately sanctified.”
The divine child was chubby and full of soft, gentle mannerisms. He was so delicate and handsome, that from the first time one’s eyes have the great fortune to see such beauty, one is enamored—full of affection for the child. I could not in that moment imagine God to be more ideal. He was far from the image of an old, bearded man, condemning souls to the nether worlds—an image people were given so as to fear Him—not love him.
He huddled sleepily within the lap of His mother, accepting fruits offered to Him by His many worshippers, smelling flowers, one by one, as they appeared before Him magically, as each soul on earth laid flowers upon their altar. And without exception, as every candle was lit within the temples and churches around the world, the Lord’s body did shine more brightly, until it was difficult to look upon Him.
Here was a most fair and gloriously playful Lord, who, whilst sitting upon His mother’s divine lap, fulfils the prayers of his creation, because it pleases Him to do so. As my head kissed the floor reverentially, a sense of falling came upon me. A thousand distinct images, which like a stream of consciousness, revealed the many paths that I recognized as being between time and eternity. Revolving time, from cradle to g
rave, swept around and around in a whirling circuit of perceivable happiness and struggle.
“Since my Son ordains for the good of those who clamor to reach Him, we ask thy sacred heart to look upon all souls, that they may gain the blessing of His Kingdom. We exalt thee Mary, for the immense sacrifices you make—calling so many to the faith, to enlighten and instruct them in divinity. We seek to present you unto our children, that your wisdom might a holy baptism be, according to Our will—and your service,” the Queen entreated.
I was speechless. My entire countenance changed. I gave up my life to God in that moment—in a fully surrendered way. Holding nothing back for myself, I listened intently to the hymns and canticles that chorused harmoniously on all sides of us. The world and its ordinary temptations relinquished their hold on me, as I witnessed the Lord taking my devotions unto Himself—suckling actively upon His mother’s generous breast, with a playful glint in His half-closed eye.
My soul knew not how much time had elapsed. It was as though this was the beginning and end of every experience, as if the shrine of my soul had forever been here preserved, while the shadows of my history were as nothing more than a fantastic dream.
“Your persuasions have been plunged deep in error,” Kana breathed into my innermost heart. “I wonder at your innocence and childish thoughts, Mary,” He said, as I lifted my head to meet His gaze which was so full of love and understanding. I was breathless by His acceptance of me.
“Lord,” someone said from behind me.
“From the first day when in mortal life I saw this girl’s face, until now—my heart has remained unchanged. She is most exultingly committed to Your cause, triumphing over all personal tribulations in Hell, in Heaven, and on earth. But then, you already know that don’t you?” Jesu’s distinctive voice said wittily. The Lord giggled livelily, kicking His feet in the air, as if dancing, upon hearing Jesu’s melodious voice.
CHAPTER 43
HEAVEN—VEIL SIX
The Weeping of Willows
Be not guided by your own opinions, for the Lord speaks to the soul and sets down signs by which we may know which path is in His favor.
“The Lord has blessed you with His presence and I am honored to have been a part of that process . . .” Cherubim said humbly. “The problem is, humans do not understand what is to be done and what is not to be done. They only know themselves as their bodies and their status, which are based on illusion—and it is this that drives them. Losing all faith in the concept of the soul, and the divine, caught in the quagmire of external life, they are dragged here and there like prisoners. Even so, still they wish only to seek out the mundane.
“With all their interest directed towards the outer world and what it offers them, they do not realize that one day they will be infirm and at that time require assistance from others to do even the most basic tasks. Only then do they start to wonder when death will come and question the things of the spirit. By which time it is often too late.
“Many souls entering Heaven from earth, are so accustomed to their distractions, that it is a foreign experience for them to be still and enter into themselves at all. They are lost, Mary!”
“Exactly! People avoid looking for the peace and fortune that is already theirs,” I affirmed.
“So true are your words. The doorway is prayer. If they would but take a moment for themselves . . .” he responded thoughtfully. “But not prayer that is spoken and repeated like a parrot performing tricks, but prayer imbued with love and accompanied by meditation. Prayer must include not only the moving of lips in utterances, but considering with the heart, whom we are addressing and for what we are praying. Understanding the aim and intent of such devotion, you should teach the people to quietly engage in homage, while the rest of the world sleeps in the arms of Morpheus.
“People’s minds are so absorbed in worldly affairs, that they are full of preoccupations and attachments. And as we angels watch from a distance, we find ourselves dismayed by their meager understanding of things, wondering how to catch their attention, to wake them from their dream. We are at a loss, for even amongst those of faith, many are pretenders, with one hand saying they love the Lord, while with the other hating their earthly brothers and sisters.”
“I have often pondered on such things, Cherubim. If they would but bring themselves to the fount of the Creator, to drink of His spring, they would surely find the fulfillment and nourishment they burn for. I fear that if I tell people about the things I have seen, they will ridicule me, and uphold their thinking to try and prove me wrong—for they are so prideful. Meanwhile, it is they who are dull with false imaginings, ignorant of their own vain self-opinion. Therefore I find myself pitying them, whilst also being exasperated by their deep arrogance.
“So what is the situation of self-righteous fanatics who follow all the tenets of their religious observances whilst hiding behind pretension and haughtiness? Is their merit diminished in some way by their lack of modesty and character? Also, what of those who follow all the laws of God, yet disregard courtesy unto those who are not of their faith and ways? What is their fate, Cherubim?”
“Merit is always there. It never diminishes, Mary. It is the preserved gift of the spirit held eternally for their benefit. However, though they may follow carefully the letter of every law, often they are unable to see their own faults, which trick them into pointing the finger. Believing themselves to be perfected, they convince themselves that they are unshackled. Pride and criticism is so often found most amongst the religious, despite their good intentions. Sadly they know not, that when they offend even one soul, the Lord cares not for their petitions.
“Tolerance, kindheartedness, and compassion, are symptoms of spiritual betterment. If these ingredients are missing, then all that they do and all that they say, is no better than the actions of a mouse on a wheel who goes nowhere. Pilgrims of all faith must first rectify their offenses, for this is the chain which binds their souls to the physical. All must come to learn, that the lamp of the Lord rises to mortals through many passages. Now Mary, I wish to share something very personal to me, if you will allow.”
“What you are about to see, is a cosmic vision which can only be understood when reduced to a finite object perceived by your human eyes. Therefore, I must first cleanse your sight, so that you can properly behold the contemplative truth of this reality. May I?” he asked, presenting a jar of what looked like anointing balm.
“Of course,” I answered, closing my eyes faithfully.
Gently he began applying a cooling ointment, laying his hands flat over my eyes. When I opened them, I found myself in the center of a green orchard which accommodated no end of weeping willow trees, bowing and swaying in silent reverie. “The shadows of the sacred veil have been lifted. Your sight is restored to you, and it shall endure even after your journey here is complete,” he said kindly.
“The creation is measured by degrees of awareness and realization into the mystery of deliverance—as far as each soul can perceive it. What you see here, are the burdens of those seeking redemption,” he reported, pointing towards the canopy of icicles held inside the trees billowing branches which drooped heavily to the ground. Each icy jewel was long, like a lingering heart that ached, aspired, and wished hopefully. The trees cooed, rocking back and forth in unison, pulsing to the sound of a beating heart which throbbed rhythmically.
“These are the sacred mother trees,” Cherubim explained. “They sway the burdens of the people, rocking them like a mother caressing her child. The prayers of those who have asked for relief from the burning pangs of their misery, are here stored. The Lord, out of His great mercy, collects each of their teary-eyed confessions, inside these frosted diamonds. Beautiful, is it not?” he said proudly.
“Most beautiful!” I exclaimed, impre
ssed by the perfection of the Lord’s design.
“The prayers of faithful crusaders arrive in Heaven, from earth, carried here upon clouds, where they fall in the form of rain—upon their mother trees. Each one is then gathered here upon these bowers, like a lifeline. Even those plunged deep in error, shine in Heaven by the fount of their appeals.”
I felt comforted by the warmth of the love here, which was beyond any measure of what is known on earth. The gifts of God in His bounty, were here laid out as evidence of His love for us.
“Not one prayer has ever fallen from Heaven,” Cherubim confirmed.
I was mesmerized by such reasoning—I could not fathom the Almighty’s limitless awareness and concern for us.
“I am constantly startled by the Lord’s nature,” I said, awed by the inventive design. “Tell me Cherubim, do all souls find relief when their burdens are here personified?”
“Oh yes Mary, indeed! Like new wine in autumn, the weary feel hope in the darkness. The Lord whispers secrets of eternity into the very air that we breathe. He is genial by nature. And though people choose to move against the sacred standard, here you see the virtue of our Lord’s love for us.
“It is His grace which inspires all of my tasks, Mary. Hence I took vows and shall forever keep the covenant of my charge—which is to be a guiding light unto those whose tears fall in sorrow. All things must pass, so it is with darkness,” he contemplated.
“So what happens to their prayers? Are they all ultimately fulfilled?”
“Prayers cross the secret hallows of life and death. They bring everyone beyond the altar of faith—beyond the grave. People’s dissatisfaction is like a beacon in the darkness guiding them home. Yes, all prayers are ultimately heard and answered, as it is the nature of angelic character to endeavor for the betterment of all. However, such prayers are answered only once the lesson has taught them sufficiently—so that they might amend themselves.