Читать книгу LoveDance: Awakening the Divine Daughter - Deborah Maragopoulos FNP - Страница 22

Since receiving revelation about the birth of our first child, Mary has fretted over the amount of time I have needed to prepare for the conception in the wilderness. I spend my days perfecting the art of creating and maintaining a mobile kasa, for Abba believes that the world outside our home is unsafe. Through many years of study, I have learned raza—to make that which is material disappear. What appears material in this world is of a certain vibration like the deepest lowest tones of the lyre, while that of the spirit world is of a higher, lighter vibration like the silent sound only creatures perceive.

To veil oneself from the world, one must raise his energy higher, lighter, faster than that of the reality in which he exists and to the world he has disappeared, but still he sees and hears all about him. The same vibration as the healing white light which provides protection and invisibility to those within its sphere, kasa exists around our land, a technique Abba and I learned from the mystics in Britannia. Walking between the worlds of reality, Mary eloquently describes raza as dancing faster than the world, and to reappear, one must slow her dance to match that of the earth.

While Abba is in Tyre helping my uncles manage the ships, Ima comes with Martha and Micah to celebrate my birthday. Pregnant with her second son, my sister seems content, but Ima has an air of concern.

“Mary, you are too thin.” A few strands of gray salt her dark hair. “You spend too much time out of doors with that horse!”

Surrounded by wooden toys, Sarah plays contently with Micah, her long curls bouncing well past her shoulders. “Sheikan provides me with a blessed distraction in Yeshua’s absence.”

Martha looks up from her needlework, her slender hands never idle. “We are concerned that this separation is wearing upon you.”

Sighing, I sit at her feet and Martha strokes my hair. “It has been difficult, sister, I miss him so.”

Sarah runs to hug me, her plump cheeks sticky with massah crumbs. “Don’t cry, Ima. Abba’s here.” She presses her small hand over my heart. before returning to Micah.

Ima sits, her hayye laced with concern and at the core, the darkness of fear. “Men crave adventure and travel. We must understand that our husbands have greater needs than we may be able to fulfill.” Foreboding laps at the edge of my aura.

Martha tries to help, “Mary, Eleazer is so happy that I am bearing his children and I am happy to be a wife and mother. But of course during the pregnancy, I cannot expect him to wait for me in our marriage bed.”

How can he not wait? Perhaps she thinks that Yeshua and I were not intimate when I was pregnant. I look down, wondering if we broke some tradition which she and Ima need not know about.

“Mary, you cannot expect Yeshua to be away this long without taking other women to his bed.”

I gasp as stabbed. “You are wrong, Ima! Yeshua is faithful to me. There has never been anyone else.”

She shakes her head sadly, her hand heavy on my shoulder, “Dear Mary, I just want to prepare you by revealing the truth.”

That is not my truth! Sarah ceases her play so I try to appease her with a smile. “Ima,” I measure my words, “are you satisfied with this arrangement?”

“Well, of course, Mary. What choice do I have?” She really believes she is powerless.

“Ima, do you not have desires as well? When Abba is gone and you believe he is taking other women to his bed, do you not feel justified in taking a lover of your own?”

Ima stands up flushed in the face. Gasping, Martha drops her needlework. “I will be faithful to Yeshua and I expect that he will be as well.” They stare at me as if I have blasphemed.

“Mary,” Ima gasps, “do you not realize that a woman could be stoned for adultery?” I pick up Martha’s forgotten needlework. “Promise me that you will stay chaste while your husband is away.”

I stand and kiss them. “I made that promise to Yeshua as he did to me.” Holding Sarah up for a kiss, we take our leave.

I find Miriam in the study, but she is not alone. A familiar burgundy hayye pulsates like the heart of a hot fire. I hesitate at the threshold with Sarah in my arms.

“Please, Mary, join us.” Sarah struggles to be put down and Miriam scoops her up. She listens patiently as Sarah describes our visit with Savta, before asking “Would you like to talk?” At the invitation, my emotions bubble to the surface. Turning back to Sarah, she whispers, “Guess what, precious child? There is someone here to meet you.”

Sarah leans confidentially into Miriam’s shoulder, “Savta, that’s my Hava. Can she stay with me now?”

Miriam kisses her plump cheek and releases her. Instead of the usual hugs and kisses, Sarah greets our guest palm to palm. When they press their foreheads together, I gasp, remembering Hava greeted me in the same way. Visions of the altar force me to my knees, as waves of desire flood my body. This morning’s dream continues where it was interrupted with clans from around the world witnessing our union. My passion draws Yeshua.

For heaven’s sakes, Mary, what is happening?

I am here before the high priestess. Sarah knows her.

Sarah reaches from Hava’s arms, “My Abba,” receiving his embrace through the ethers. Tears flow over the edge of my smile.

Hello, my son. I have returned to be with your precious daughter.

With reverence, Yeshua responds, You have my deepest gratitude, dear Hava.

I kiss her extended hand but Hava laughs, “Please stand so I might greet you properly.”

Still holding Sarah on her hip, she raises her left hand to my right. So intense is the energy, the rose inscribed on my body nearly three years ago pulsates with a sweet aching. Sarah breaks the spell by kissing my cheek, “Ima, stay here with Savta. I want to be with my Hava.” They glide out of the room.

Miriam smiles, motioning me to sit with her on a wide cushioned chair. “Hava has been in Qumran with the priestesses of Astarte holding the energy that was brought to earth during your union with Yeshua.”

The eelestial quartz glows as hotly as my cheeks. “I am sorry to act so overwhelmed.”

Looking at me intently, Miriam’s hayye softly probes mine. If only she can reassure me that all will be well. “Martha and my mother brought to my attention that men cannot be trusted with fidelity especially when absent from us…,” my voice trails off. “I just never considered this a possibility.”

“Mary, you must learn to trust.” I do, but have allowed my mother to place doubt in my mind. “This separation is granting you an opportunity to learn to trust in yourself and the Divine.”

But she does not reassure me that my husband will be faithful. Perhaps she had to live with this same turmoil herself when Joseph left and now it is my turn.

***

A chilly breeze blows long black hair over a drawn face. Coarse bindings secure bloodied wrists to the crossbar. Groans cascade down the stony mount. The myrrh-laced wine wore off long ago. With a muttered curse, a centurion orders the prisoner’s death hastened. A quick draw of straws provokes a disgruntled groan from one of the four young soldiers who rises armed with a stout oak staff.

The sickening crack of bone precedes a piercing cry. The condemned man’s head snaps back sharply against the vertical beam parting the veil of hair. Stricken eyes fix a green death glare upon him. Horrified, he backs away, stumbling down the mount.

In a cold sweat, Teoma bolts upright, nearly capsizing the hammock. After his first zealot campaign, he witnessed the crucifixion of one of his comrades. Never again! Now that cursed dream which haunted him five years ago returns. Why? Because Tiberius drowned any hopes of an uprising after Augustus’ death last summer by strengthening the legions. The more fortunate prisoners file by Nazareth on their way to the galleys, while the rebels are condemned to the cross.

He should be taking up arms besides the zealots, but instead plays father to another’s child. Trapped by his loyalty to Yeshua, yet so is Mary. He wipes a damp brow. At least she experiences a measure of freedom riding far from the house on the white stallion. Not that there is another mount that can keep up nor does he wish to tempt fate by being alone with her.

Sighing, he closes his eyes but the death glare pierces his mind until a wave of sorrow disturbs the garden. Contrasting with the creamy blossoms of the apricot trees, Mary’s dark beauty is soaked with despair. She sits gingerly next to him and shivering, leans into the warmth of his body.

He places the bundle he used for a pillow in her lap, “A token for your birthday.”

Her careful unwrapping reveals an exquisite amethyst shawl, but she does not look up. Is it too intimate? His face flushes hotly. Perhaps she perceives his connection to the young priestess who embroidered the golden ankhs along the edge of the silk. “Do you not like it?”

She draws a shuddering breath, “I’m sorry. It’s lovely. Thank you. I just…”

Wrapping the shawl about her shoulders, he lifts her silken curls free. “You’re missing him more than usual.” Still she stares at her clasped hands, for once struggling to express herself. “What is it?”

“Teoma, is it true that men cannot be expected to abstain?”

Her candor takes him by surprise. Embarrassed, he clears his throat. “Why would you ask such a question?”

She sighs miserably. “Because my mother informed me that while I am expected to be chaste during our separation, I cannot expect him to be.”

Certain of his friend’s fidelity, he asks, “And you believe that?”

“No, but I left them in the nursery and went to talk to Miriam.”

He nods. “Good, so what did she say?”

“That I need to learn to trust in myself and the Divine.”

“She is right, you must have faith.”

She looks up, her green gaze as imploring as in his dream. He swallows thickly. “I do not know if Yeshua is strong like you.”

His body stiffens, “What do you mean?”

“Why, Teoma, you are so handsome and desirable, but insist on serving Yeshua’s mission and foregoing, well, you know…marriage and…intimacy.”

How did he get himself into this? “I am committed to both of you, and while I do not foresee marriage,” he hesitates, clearing his throat, “I am not celibate.”

“Really, you have a mistress? Then why haven’t I met her?” She looks about as if he is hiding some strange woman amongst the pepper trees.

He shifts uncomfortably, remembering well what he learned in the temple of Astarte. “When Yeshua asked me to leave, Joseph advised that I make some contacts in Judaea.”

A flash of comprehension darkens her gaze. “He sent you to be with…women?”

He pauses to inhale deeply. “I truly believed you and I would be married, before I knew that you were betrothed, of course, and then in my fervor to serve Yeshua, I felt that I must be faithful to you both.” Her lovely mouth blossoms into a smile, which eases his heart somewhat. “Joseph arranged for me to be mentored by the priestesses.”

“I apologize for my naiveté. But how can you stay here with us and not be with your women friends in Judaea?”

He smiles. “Well, perhaps you are right. Once through the portal of sensuality, there is no return.” Her forehead creases with concern. “But do not worry, I will not leave you.”

“But if you have found it difficult, do you think Yeshua can be strong?” She presses her small hand against his chest in confirmation of his power.

“I think it might be harder for men than for women.” He searches for an explanation to cover his former insensitivity, “You have Sarah to occupy your time and, of course, Sheikan.”

Vehemently, she pulls away. “Do you think motherhood can satisfy that need?”

He is taken aback by the fire of her emotion.

“Women do not really understand their innate passion, so much so that they are not living the fullness of their femininity. And men perpetuate the fallacy of demurely chaste wives yet seek solace with other women!” Mary clasps his hands to her breast, “Who are these women who might express their passionate natures with men in the moment, but not for lifetime companionship?”

Teoma stares at her wondering how much to reveal, “Dear, except for the priestesses of Astarte, these women are not accepted by society openly, many are scorned and punished oftentimes in guise of the laws of Adonai.”

“How terrible! The Creator made both men and women to be passionate in their love for one another.”

He attempts to enlighten her. “Sex and love are not mutually inclusive.”

“What?” she asks beseechingly, “You make love to women and do not feel love for them?”

How to explain without burdening her even more? “One can be intimate without being in love, but…” his voice lowers, “I imagine that sex with your heart’s desire is the highest expression of love.”

Her eyes overflow, comprehending his sacrifice, “I am so sorry, Teoma.”

“Dearest, do not be sorry. This is my choice.” He hugs her tightly, praying she receives as much comfort from the contact as he does.

***

I retire to my room exhausted. Usually adoring the words of my beloved’s hand, tonight I do not open the codex. Buried beneath painful memories, his insights record more heartache than joy. Dried flowers marking the more pleasant passages bring me little solace for those are few compared to his soulful turmoil.

Pulling the silky linens over my naked flesh, soon seeped in images of our wedding union, I yearn for Yeshua. Always he perceives my nocturnal desire, but tonight he does not come.

The purple drop appears and I enter its center to follow the violet wave, raising my vibration a fraction more by deepening my breath and imagining Yeshua’s hayye. Yet I cannot perceive him, no connection. I refocus my efforts, clearing my mind but to no avail. Where is he?

If something was wrong, I would feel it, but nothing. Unless…?

If I have learned to selectively use kasa to pacify Teoma, certainly Yeshua can do the same. But why seek privacy from me? Ragged breath forces me to sit up. I command myself to desist, but my fevered mind runs away with the idea that my husband may be with another woman.

I cry myself into a fitful sleep. The Archangels appear in my dreams. Uriel takes my hand as I enter another dark place. Gavriel’s face is serene, but in Uriel’s eyes lies my sorrow. I awaken in a cold sweat.

Rising from my lonely bed, I dress to ride. A tunic split up the middle and sewed in half lengthwise, like the horsemen of the southern deserts, works to protect my inner thighs from chaffing and I tie a sash around my chest to secure my bosom.

Prancing across the pasture, Sheikan greets me with a nicker and I mount his bare back without bridle, sensuously free. He responds to my every wish so we head to the seashore. Nearly a half-day’s ride on any other mount, Sheikan covers the distance with long strides, never tiring, adjusting his pace to suit the terrain. I sit low and forward on his withers, centered with him—in unity, one with nature, borne on the wind.

The sea beckons so we plunge in to wash off the sweat and tears. Returning to the shore, Sheikan nuzzles my leg so I slip off his back to allow him to shake before rolling in the sand. I wring out my garments before laying them to dry under the late winter sky. The beloved element of water soothes my soul as the sun warms my body. Sheikan begins to graze and I sit breathing deeply in meditation. Softened by the ride, I perceive my own connection in the purple drop, but not Yeshua. With a heavy heart, I lie back and watch the sea birds.

I have lost contact with my beloved. I pray fervently that he is well, that my suspicions are not true, that I might learn trust. Within my navel the elestial quartz lies clouded by my dread. Circling a patch of long grass, Sheikan lies down beside me, allowing me to lay my heavy head upon his neck. When I awaken, the sun bows low to meet the sea. We must return or Teoma will be frantic. Hurriedly, I dress and mount Sheikan, racing east to beat the night.

The moonless sky makes it seem very late. In the stable, Sheikan looks up from his grain to nicker a greeting, and I bend to clean his hooves, ignoring Teoma’s set jaw.

“You should have the grooms do that.” His voice is strained. “Where were you all day? Miriam told me she sent you out to ride, but you left no word with the stable hands as to your destination.” He lifts me to my feet and sniffs a lock of my hair. “You rode all the way to the shore?” I nod.

With clenched fists, Teoma barely contains himself. “How do you expect me to keep my promise to your husband if you insist on running off? What if something happened to you?”

Staring up at him with a heavy heart, I have no excuses, “I am sorry, Teoma. I….”

“No! You have no idea how much I worry about you. Do you know how upset Yeshua would be if I lost you?”

“He would not care.”

His tight grip on my arm is nothing compared to the pain in my heart. “How can you say such a thing? After our conversation yesterday? What is wrong with you?” Teoma’s frustration lies heavily in the breezeless stall.

“I cannot find Yeshua! My fears are being made manifest.”

He loosens his grip, eyes softer, “Mary, you must be mistaken.”

My passion rises, “Do you doubt that I can connect to him? Do you think I have not tried? We have connected every morning and night since he left in Tammuz.”

Now he looks worried, “Maybe he cannot contact you. What if he is hurt or sick or…?”

“Even when ill, you can be contacted. I know that I would feel if he were…dead. It must be kasa that seals him from me. Why would he want to veil himself, unless to hide?”

Teoma shakes his head, “Perhaps he is not veiling himself, but someone else is veiling him. Let us go to Miriam, she can contact Joseph and then we will know.” He tries to lead me away, but I resist. “What? Do you not want to know the truth?”

Through trembling lips, I respond, “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I am supposed to just trust that all is well. Maybe I would be better off never knowing if he has been unfaithful or not.”

Compassionately, he declares, “Dearest Mary, you must have faith. I will go to Miriam and be assured of Yeshua’s wellbeing.” He escorts me to the nursery. I kiss my daughter, who is fast asleep, exhausted from her full day with Hava.

“Mary, remember to be gentle with yourself and with him. You are both human and it is not easy in this form.” Hava’s golden eyes and deep auburn-colored hair reflect her fire-like aura. I manage a smile and head for the baths.

After a soothing soak, dressed in a soft linen sadin with my damp hair in long braids, I am summoned to the study, where Miriam has spent most of her time since Joseph has gone. Teoma sits grimfaced beside her. My heart skips a beat; maybe I cannot perceive Yeshua’s need.

Miriam speaks, “I contacted Joseph, and apparently Yeshua is veiled from him as well.” She does not appear upset, but then why would she be?

“So, Ima, you believe Yeshua is alive and well?”

“Yes, dear, I do.”

Nauseated, I breathe shallowly. “Teoma,” I ask, swallowing back my shame, “why are you so grim?”

Looking up slowly, Teoma makes an effort to soften his jaw, “Mary, for all of our sakes, do not forget that he is just a man.”

With sheer will, I refrain from crying. “Dear friend, I thought you believed him to be something more.” Teoma calls after me, but Miriam quiets him.

In the nursery, I kiss Sarah’s sweet face. So connected to her father, if he was endangered she would react. But no, she sleeps peacefully. He must not be sad or afraid, or she would stir. He must be joyful or something else that I do not wish to express while standing over our child.

Unable to sleep in our bed, I head for the stables, blanket under my arm. I shall not sleep alone but will lie down in sweet straw with Sheikan. Within the comfort of his equine energy, I spend a dreamless night.

For the following week, I go into the house briefly to be with Sarah. At dawn and bedtime, I try to commune with Yeshua, but nothing. I am losing hope. Riding Sheikan far from here, I cannot escape this pain.

Miriam says very little, offering no reassurance. I can only trust myself for I am alone in this world. Now that Hava is here, Sarah does not seem to need me, but I must stay for who knows if her father will ever return. Even my angels have kept their distance and Teoma hardly looks at me, so affected by Yeshua's humanness.

The nights are long and cold under the waxing moon, the days stormy and gray like my mood. I cannot go back to my family, but do not feel at home here with Yeshua’s essence pervading the house. What once made me feel attached now causes me to feel adrift.

On the eighth night after another fruitless search for my husband, I surrender to the ministration of the angels, “Marya,” I pray using the Chaverim name for the Divine, “please lighten my heart that I may know love and abundance in my life. I cannot travel this dark path alone any longer. Please accompany me on my journey, lift my burden of pain, and help me to understand how to love myself more deeply that I might be able to love those around me with all my heart. Help me surrender my beloved to his divine destiny here on earth or in other dimensions. Please, I can do no more. Ameyn.”

Both Archangels Uriel and Gavriel light up with translucent vibration and I am held in their protective embrace. Peace overwhelms my being as a tetrahedron of light appears of all colors, of none. The One speaks to me in a voice without sound and I am filled with love.

Mary, all of heaven weeps when you are in pain. Do not forget who you are, beloved. You are here to bring joy unto the world of men, your love nourishes like milk and honey. Your faith has been great, as has been your courage. My beloved Yeshua will be returned to you.

With a vast wave of love, the tetrahedron expands, encompassing me and I am awash with passion. I have never felt so adored, so cherished. Tears drench my hands clasped in fervent prayer. The angels magnify to such intensity that they are beyond my visual perception. The One is gone, but within my heart is a pure seed of compassion planted in love.

A third angel has appeared with a golden sword of light, he stands to my right. Gavriel speaks, Mary, as you have taken Uriel’s hand willingly to be escorted through this darkness, now you shall go with Archangel Michael who will escort you through the portal of your awakening.

I extend my hayye to Michael who sweeps me through the bright portal. The world now appears bathed in light, even in this dark night. All colors and sounds enhanced by beauty awe me. Holding Michael’s hand, with Uriel and Gavriel behind, I am taken to Yeshua.

He lies upon his back on an altar bathed in a soft glow, surrounded by Druids in brown hooded tunics. Dressed in white, his skin pale, his limbs thin, in a state like deep sleep, only connected to his unconscious body by a silver cord, his spirit embraces me and I am awash in love. We enter his body together and I see through his eyes all that has happened to him in the past eight days.

After our last connection with Hava, Yeshua, in the middle of a quest under the dictates of the northern clan, went into a deep trance. Unfortunately, the healers had a difficult time bringing him back. They spent days and nights ministering to him but to no avail. He was united with the One where time was not. Filled with love, he felt no attachments to this world, not even to me.

In spite of my repeated attempts to contact him, he could not be drawn away from the bliss until I finally prayed and surrendered him to the One, then he reconnected to this dimension. For the first time in a week, I feel joy.

Yeshua awakes in Britannia and I am returned to my body. The symbol of our union glows comfortingly at my core. With a heart full of gratitude, I thank my angelic escort and go to the nursery to kiss Sarah. She stirs and reaches up to hug me before whispering sleepily, “Abba’s back. Be happy now, Ima.” Blessed child, I should have consulted with her.