Читать книгу LoveDance: Awakening the Divine Daughter - Deborah Maragopoulos FNP - Страница 6

Sauntering down the road to Nazareth, I quicken as I pass unescorted by the women at the village well. Dust sullying my fine embroidered robe, I only stop to knock the gravel from my sandals. Great timbers from the forests of Syria peek through worn clay walls as a cool breeze lifts faded courtyard canopies. On the western outskirts of the village, I enter the house of Joseph.

Once through the low doorway, children’s laughter greets me. More alive than any of my family’s grand homes, the humble cottage permeates with a wealth of love. My skin tingles—he is here.

“Yeshua, I want you to have this.”

Startled brown eyes absorb me before liquefying into a warm smile. He takes the small rose quartz, fingers lingering a fraction longer than necessary. Quivering, I search for my innate strength to hold his intense gaze. His younger brothers and sisters interrupt their play to watch our exchange.

“Yeshua, mind your manners! We are not espoused.”

Rude as rowdy donkeys, boys jostle into the courtyard. I am nearly knocked off the landing before Yeshua catches my arm.

“Why is she here?” the gangly son of the village potter whines.

“She possesses what we do not. We need her sacred feminine power to sanctify Mount Tabor.”

“Who is she anyhow?” Yeshua’s entourage grumbles amongst themselves, clearly uncomfortable with my presence. Still I hesitate to reveal myself until he gives me a nudge.

“I am…Mary.” They are unimpressed so I add, “Daughter of Syrus, the magistrate.” The boys quiet their protests.

Yeshua leads us through the street, ignoring the farmer who tries to sell the last of his produce to busy wives. Stomachs growl in unison but Yeshua hastens the pace, carefully avoiding sewage coursing through drainage systems. Laughing and elbowing each other, the boys make crude remarks.

“The Romans are pigs. Look at this filth in the street.”

“If it were not for the Romans, we would still be pumping water from the village wells and relieving ourselves in buckets!”

Sons of the Chaverim, probably living in such conditions, look down. A scruffy one scowls at me. Teoma confides, “Mary certainly has an answer for everything!”

Yeshua nods, “That’s why I like her to accompany us.”

“Is that the only reason?”

I stifle a smile at Yeshua’s reddened cheeks. Before passing by the well, Teoma gathers the boys into a tight-knit group, effectively shielding me from the sharp eyes of the village women. Grateful that my mother shall not discover this escapade, I thank him.

Leaving the dusty road we head southeast toward Mount Tabor , but the smell of roasting meat halts the hungry boys. Despite passionate pleas, Yeshua can get them to go no further so Teoma conspires with the goatherd to feed us in return for milking the goats. Upset by the delay, Yeshua walks in small circles. I make my way over to him and take his arm. In the coolness of the late winter afternoon, it is damp.

“Have you eaten today?”

“I’m fasting.” He looks away as if I cannot possibly understand his devotion.

“Yesh, why must you suffer so?” Eyes shining like amber glass, he moves to a higher vista. Sighing, I find his cousin, a good friend to both of us.

“Teoma,” I touch his shoulder as he squats down to milk a brown and black spotted doe. He looks up and grins.

“What, green eyes?”

Stroking the goat’s head, I chastise myself for not curbing my passion. “I’m worried about Yeshua. He’s fasting again and I think he might collapse.”

“If only you were as concerned for the rest of us.”

“Please, will you bring him the first cut of meat?” Hastily, I stand, but he catches the hem of my sadin, halting my step.

“What?” I cry, frustrated by the delay.

“Perhaps we might…” Teoma murmurs through a half-considered smile, “Sorry, go watch over him.”

Partially obscured by weeping pepper tree branches, Yeshua rests in meditation. Carefully, I sit beside him, wishing he realized what I have always known. We are destined to be together.

“I have always loved you, Mary.”

A sob catches in my throat. Singing softly in the breeze, the lime-green leaves hover about us like a bridal veil. So long I have wanted to know his feelings, but now I feel strange. His lean brown hand cups my head, pouring icy river water down my back. I shiver as sweat beads on his upper lip, glistening on the fine down that will someday be a mustache. His breath smells sickly sweet, perhaps he speaks in delirium.

Finished with the chores, the boys recline about the pepper grove hungrily enjoying their reward. Yeshua rises at Teoma’s approach and takes the water skin. We silently wash our hands before sharing the meat. Yeshua’s hands tremble as he gives thanks. Teoma casts a worried glance my way.

“Yesh, please eat,” I beg.

Wavering on his feet, Yeshua falls into my lap, out cold.

Gray-green olive leaves rustle a warning as we return through the shadowed village. An empty courtyard greets us. Releasing Teoma’s steady grip, Yeshua sinks wearily upon some cushions just as his mother rushes in.

“Ima,” Yeshua implores, “please allow Mary to stay.”

Tears trailing through the dust on my face, I turn toward the doorway where Teoma stands prepared to escort me home.

“Mary, come join us. It is time.”

I take Miriam’s hand. Unconcerned by my tattered appearance, she leads me to a simple stone kiyyor and kneels to wash my feet and hands like a servant. We rise together and through a semi-sheer veil, enter an inner sanctum. Smooth basalt walls cradle burnished copper lamps flickering upon two intersecting triangles inlaid into the marble.

A sweet melody courses through me, but Miriam seems unaware. In fluid motion, I abandon myself to the swirling energy. The altar beckons, yet not until the music fades away and the hayye settles into a faint buzzing do I cease dancing. I kneel at the altar, my palms and forehead pressing gently against the cool stone, envisioning a star encased in a rose upon it.

Above the frantic beat of my heart, I feel someone enter the sanctum. Turning full circle, I see that Miriam has gone and in her place is… Yeshua.

Faintly self-conscious, I rise to my feet. Never before have we been alone in a room together. This room so sensuous, how might I control my passion? For heaven knows, I am desirous of his company.

Yeshua has not moved from the doorway, nor I from the altar, yet fate tightens invisible cords that bind our hearts. Where is Miriam? As I fret, she appears behind him.

“She is intuned to the energies, my son.” A sense of peace blankets me as she drapes a pale blue hooded mantle over my shoulders.

“Ima, may we have a moment alone?” Yeshua looks intently into her eyes. In spite of his charisma, Miriam shakes her head and draws me closer into her bosom.

The following morning, Yeshua and I sit before his parents in a study filled with scrolls, ancient and new. Without ceremony, his father begins. “It is tradition to announce the betrothal of a Davidic prince in Tammuz. After the winter solstice, the royal marriage will be consummated…”

Wedding! Looking at my expression, Joseph speaks more slowly, “… so the child conceived will be born in the month of kings.”

Feeling faint, I murmur, “I don’t understand.” Yeshua’s face darkens as Joseph clears his throat.

“You were betrothed to my son when you were but three.”

Twelve years and I have not known? My mother must have died a thousand deaths when my father accepted the son of a craftsman. Joseph supports his large family very well, but…All eyes study my reaction, I swallow thickly, “Yeshua is my heart’s desire, but I am shocked that my Abba would give me to him.”

Miriam and Joseph nod, well aware of the breach of tradition. Tzadokim never marry Chaverim!

Leaning across the table, Miriam reaches for my hand. “Dear one, your father shred my husband’s vision of your marriage to our son,” she gives Joseph a sidelong glance. “but the elders asked Yeshua to fulfill dynastic law.”

“What does that mean?” I look at my espoused.

“Nothing for you to worry about. We are to be married on the spring equinox. The Zadok’s will have to be satisfied, for this is divine timing.” Before Yeshua can speak further, Joseph raises his hand.

“Please, son, go talk this over.”

Yeshua leads me down the hall to a room off the garden. Wine red, forest green, midnight blue—rich sensual colors grace the cushions and drapery. The smell of warm bread causes my stomach to quake, but Yeshua ignores the beautiful meal laid out for us on the low table.

“It is not a fast day.”

Looking intently at me, he smiles. “Fasting curbs my desires.”

“But don’t you hunger?”

He shakes his head, tracing my mouth with the tip of his finger. “Not for food.”

Deep brown eyes spiraled in gold draw me into infinity. I swallow and drop my gaze to his mouth. His lips greet mine tentatively, until I open to receive him, then his kiss becomes sweetly urgent. I am melting into him to become hot liquid spilling on the cool tile floor.

“Yeshua,” drawing away, I ask breathlessly, “when did you know about us?”

“Before I left for Britannia.” What! That was nearly three years ago. He holds me against his chest, stroking my tangled curls. “I should have told you sooner.” Trembling with unspent passion, I release a shuddering cry. “I promise that I will not cause you any more suffering.”

In the portal of his eyes, the truth is revealed. “In loving you, I fear I shall experience much more suffering.”

A single tear slides down his tan cheek and splashes onto mine, sealing our fate.

The odor of sandalwood permeates my nostrils from the oil massaged onto my skin. All morning I have been tended by the women, my body soaked in a jasmine bath, my hair rinsed in lavender and lemon. Silk sways tantalizingly against my smooth legs as I wander down the hall. My mother would be appalled to see me in this revealing Grecian sadin and what has been revealed to me in the chamam, she can never know.

I miss Yeshua. Three weeks ago Joseph took him into the wilderness to prepare for our coming wedding. The house feels so empty. I enter the inner sanctum through a thick black drape embroidered with the constellations and a full moon. In opposition to the sun’s path, I dance with the sensuous hayye, filling thirteen oil lamps before pouring eight drops of precious oil upon lambskins arranged in the four directions. The star within a rose glows hotly beneath me as I recline on the altar. The one candle flickers, but paying no mind, I trace spirals upon my skin, noticing that my violet hue is glistening with Yeshua’s silver.

Suddenly, there seems a bit less air in the room. Holding my breath, I sit up to peer into the dark. The circle of moonlight entertains a familiar shadow…Yeshua!

Ecstatic, I cover his face with kisses. “So, Mary,” he whispers into my soft curls, “why are you here?” Looking into his eyes, I see the mirror of my love.

“Your Ima asked me to prepare this room for a special ceremony. The swirling hayye came so I danced and then rested here to watch the moon rise. Would you like to join me, the sky is beautiful tonight.”

“I would love to join you, beloved, but first let me light the lamps.”

Before he moves away, I catch his hand. “No, we mustn’t waste the oil.”

“I do not think it will go to waste,” he whispers and moves toward the east, lighting each of the thirteen lamps in turn. I pray Miriam will not be too angry that we burn the oil before the ceremony.

Circling south of the altar, Yeshua drops to his knees. “You look so beautiful tonight with the flowers in your hair and that wonderful violet dress that matches the color of your life force. And you smell delicious. I wonder why Ima would have you prepare so elaborately only to ready this room.” He does not take his eyes off me, nor does he stand. My breath catches…I am the special ceremony!

He stands and drops his robe, adorned only by the small leather pouch around his neck. Nervously, I finger my own pouch nestled between my breasts. All the elaborate ministrations over the past three days were to prepare me for this moment. Pouring off my shoulders in silky waves of violet, my gown soon lies upon the altar. Yeshua gasps.

“You are so…beautiful!”

Swallowing thickly, he kneels and slides me closer, until the tips of my toes are level with his chest. From his robe he produces a tiny bottle of oil. Holding it over us he prays in Hebrew, the sacred language of our people, and then begins anointing my feet. His touch creates waves of sensation as the pungent odor of spikenard pervades the room. When he stands to move toward my head, I feel a pillar of hayye pour from above us to enclose the entire altar. Radiance gathers to witness our union. Yeshua gently directs me to lie back and slides me north. Again he holds the tiny vial aloft, praying fervently before softly anointing the crown of my head.

The column of energy widens when he joins me on the altar. I lay completely still, mesmerized by the pulsating hayye rising in my body from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head. Tenderly, he kisses my mouth. With a cry, I pull him closer, hungrily yearning for more.

He begins stroking me softly, learning every curve. Each moment intensifies. I part my thighs and he dips into my wetness to paint spirals over my belly and breasts. I cry out as he takes a rigid nipple into his mouth. He tastes all of me and I am enchanted.

When he probes below with tender fingers, I yearn to arch up yet he holds me still. One finger, now two, now…Ouch! There is an uncomfortable tightness, something is wrong. “Yesh…?”

Rising up to face me, he whispers, “It is going to be fine, love.” Of course. Miriam explained that there might be some discomfort the first time. Touching his chest, I run my hands down his hard belly …my goodness, his desire must be much greater than my own!

Groaning, he lies back, but my attention is too much for he drags me up to face him. Kissing me fiercely, his lovemaking becomes more urgent. The hayye intensifies around us, crashing like waves in a stormy sea. Drumming quickens the music. I am in awe, but it is not over.

He captures my gaze, rocking gently to engage me in an entirely new dance. Seeking a deliciously furious rhythm we finally reach a point from which there is no return. The energies separate, each wave moving progressively faster until our passion becomes the purest vibration and all colors merge.

Time stops.

There is nothing but us, bathing in the now pure white light.

Yeshua collapses heavily upon me (light as a feather just a moment before) breathing raggedly. Still in awe, I watch shapes coalesce within the prism and kiss him eagerly, “Thank you. That was wonderful.”

“You’re welcome, my love. But what did you perceive?”

“Yesh, you were right here. Was it not the same for you?”

Kissing me tenderly, he nibbles my lower lip. “I don’t think so.”

Somewhat self-conscious, I whisper, “Yeshua, next time you can be the anointed one.”

Just as the sky lightens, Yeshua gently shakes me awake. “Mary, Did I hurt you?” Sitting up sleepily, I do not feel injured, only a bit sore. What is he talking about?

My gaze descends—blood everywhere, his groin, hips, and hands stained. Oh, no! I am unclean, and now… so is he.

“Forgive me,” I explain in a strangled voice, “it is my menses.”

“Barchashem!” Thanking the Divine, he reaches to embrace me, but shocked, I back away.

“Yeshua, men never touch a woman in her unclean period!” Averting my eyes, I shiver, “I should be shut away.”

His fingertips lift my chin, his golden brown eyes saturated with compassion. “It’s not possible for my beloved to ever be ritually impure.” Tenderly, he lies us down on the stained lambskin and pulls me close to his chest. “In your arms, I have found what I’ve been seeking,” he murmurs into my tangled curls, “Sacred Unity—Eloha!”