Читать книгу LoveDance: Awakening the Divine Daughter - Deborah Maragopoulos FNP - Страница 7

Accompanied by the sweet musk of intimacy, Yeshua and I hurry along the corridor. Closest to the street that it might drain efficiently into the Roman sewers, the betshimush lies within a discreet tiled booth. After relieving myself in the hole for this purpose, I go to the chamam. Yeshua is there. Although ill at ease, I allow him to sponge me in a low copper basin. He even watches as I place a clean soft rag between my thighs securing the menstrual strap tightly about my hips.

“When will you be fertile?”

“In about two Shabbats.”

“And we are to be married in thirteen days. Ima planned this out perfectly."

Turning away, I wind my wet hair atop my head, securing it with ivory hairpins. Miriam enters the chamam and Yeshua greets her with a kiss on the cheek, but when she tucks away my few stray hairs I slump upon her bosom.

“Mary? Ima? What is wrong?”

“Yeshua, it is all right. Please go to the gathering room.”

Miriam waves him off and I give him a tear-soaked smile. With bowed head, he walks slowly away. I grasp her hands, speaking rapidly, almost incoherently.

“Oh Ima Miriam! We woke up covered in my blood and Yeshua was not offended! Then he asked about my fertile time…that is when we will be married. I…”

“You are feeling some fear. That is natural.” I look up at her now, as she continues, “Yours is a challenging destiny that will be filled with love and passion, pain and sorrow. You have consented to a divine match that will pave the way for much more powerful energies to come unto the earth.”

Somewhere in the depths of my soul, I know what she is saying to be true. “Will my fear prevent me from fulfilling my destiny?”

“No dear, fear, like love, is part of being human. The perfect bride for my son.” Smiling, she stops for a moment, squeezing my hand, “Now I must ask you to do one more thing before adjourning to the atrium…” She pauses before saying softly, “Please say goodbye to Teoma.”

Still trembling, I hesitantly enter the gathering room. Both Yeshua and Teoma stand in respect. Dressed in a fine blue robe, sashed smartly with a decorated leather belt, Teoma looks like a soldier, muscular legs encased in high sandals, arms rigid at his side. Yeshua motions for me to sit beside him and gives me a gentle hug.

Teoma’s face bears great sorrow. What is wrong?

With a slight quiver of his jaw, he smiles at me. His hands slowly unclench. “Mary, I hear congratulations are in order.”

From across the low round table, heat rises from his chest and faintly I smell his tantalizing sweat. My heart pounds beneath my breasts as I sigh deeply. What is happening to me? Strangely attracted to Teoma, I twist golden cords girdling my waist, my betrothed stiffening at my side.

“Please, Mary, sit with Teoma and have your breakfast. I need my son to assist me.” Yeshua glances back at us as Miriam leads him away.

Left alone, Teoma’s presence becomes enhanced. The sweet aching hayye surrounding us raises a lump in my throat. He motions toward the food, “Mary, eat. You look like you could use some refreshment.”

He knows. Paralyzed, I cannot breathe. In surrendering to one, am I open to all men now? Or is there something between us that I overlooked in my fervor for Yeshua?

Still watching me intently, his sky blue gaze softens. Our children would have the most beautiful eyes. I am losing myself.

A sob chokes him, “I love Yeshua like a brother, but I never believed he would marry.”

Pain nearly rips my heart asunder. “Perhaps then you might learn to love me like a sister.” My whispered response begs an answer.

Great tears cloud his eyes. “I could never love you as a sister, sweet Mary.” I take his hand and he does not pull away, but gently covers mine with his other. So warm, his hands are much larger than Yeshua’s. Through the clear blue depths of his eyes, I fall into his soul. Flashes of unfamiliar images of us through the ages flow past my mind’s eye. For all eternity, his love protects me, but I shudder to see such prolonged unfulfilled passion, his desire threatening to destroy him.

Saying goodbye will release him, but I cannot let him go. When I stand, Teoma does not move to stop me, so I kiss the top of his bowed head. Running from the room, my senses overloaded by emotion, his essence burns upon my lips.

Outside the doorway, my breath caught in a sob, I bring a trembling hand to my mouth. Hearing footsteps in the corridor, I turn blindly to escape and run directly into Yeshua.

“Mary!” Grasping my arms, he tries to get me to look up at him.

Not wanting to reveal my tears, I press my face into his chest, wiping them away. “Please, Teoma is waiting for you to take his leave.”

“Mary, are you all right?” I only nod, for if I speak again, I will sob. He kisses the crown of my dark curls and enters the gathering room. With bowed head, I wander aimlessly.

A young boy’s voice chants the sacred texts. I look up to see Yeshua’s eleven-year-old brother. Jacob is a beautiful boy, a replica of his father with dark thick hair and eyes a muted shade of indigo.

“Come, I’ll show you to the atrium.” Jacob turns, walking so quickly that I must nearly run to keep up, but the activity lightens my mood somewhat. The enclosed courtyard’s paths are lined with flowers and herbs, their fragrances mingling to produce a hazy feeling in my head like wine.

We enter a pure white tent with large open spaces between the top and the sides enticing the breeze to move freely. In the middle is a bubbling fountain that I kneel by to cool my fevered face. Jacob smiles, “Mary, there is refreshment for you at the table.”

Rising, I brush off the hem of my sadin and see Jacob pointing at a feast. A large basket of fruit overflows onto the white linen tablecloth. Skins filled with yogurt sit between a small pot of honey and another basket filled with bread. My stomach rumbles.Like a gifted Tana, Jacob recites passages from the Torah verbatim. I ask him to sing me the Song of Solomon and his pure young voice sweetens my meal. Thanking him, I find a hammock suspended between the trunks of two olive trees. Jacob joins me and we swing. Soon a hummingbird hovers close looking at each of us in turn. Be joyful, I hear in my head. Jacob takes no notice.

“Mary, how did you know Yeshua was the one?”

“When I looked into his eyes the first time, I could see myself as love.” Nothing is clearer to me than this. In Yeshua’s eyes, I am beloved.

Jacob seems impressed, “That is just what the mirrors of the Essenes teach. There are seven of them.” When I try to stifle a yawn, Jacob takes his leave, chanting the psalms by memory.

Not a moment later, Miriam sits on the edge of the hammock. “Mary, did you say goodbye to Teoma?”

“No, I did not realize how much he loves me…” relieved by her tender smile, I go on, “until this morning when I could feel his heart breaking.”

“As your new life begins with Yeshua, you must let nothing come between you.” A pillar of hayye pours down. Pure white, translucent pulsations hold the space around us, drawing my attention away from her face. The energy shifts and I hear in my head:

Beloved, you are learning that love is the vibration that connects you to other dimensions. You share a path with Teoma as well as Yeshua. One is your ever-faithful protector, while the other is your fervent lover. One will meet you at the end of your journey, while the other has met you well in the beginning.

Looking intently at me, Miriam is silent. I wonder what I saw in Teoma’s eyes.

You witnessed, dear one, your shared paths through the ages to come. You will need a faithful partner to watch over you. Your destiny has been sealed by your love for Teoma. But now it is Yeshua’s turn to dance with you.

Tears slip from my lashes while the hayye recedes, bringing the garden back into focus. Miriam kisses my forehead. “Please rest now, dear. You will be guided to know how to handle Yeshua.”

Handle Yeshua? I close my eyes but soon the hammock rocks with the weight of another.

“Why do you cry, Mary?” Smiling, I hold open my arms. This is the way to handle Yeshua, I think, as we begin kissing softly. “Teoma took his leave in sadness; I hope he comes to the wedding.” I look into his eyes for a sign of malevolence. There is none. “Do you love him?”

“Until this morning, I did not know that he loved me…,” but how to say this without upsetting my betrothed? “Nor did I know that I had feelings for him.”

Yeshua’s hayye draws away from me, his hand cool upon my hip. I stay his touch.

“What? How can he have a piece of your heart when you gave yourself to me?” His jealousy tinges his aura with an olive hue.

Taking his hand, I hold it against my breast, “Yeshua, although I truly love you, my heart nearly broke when I saw the depth of Teoma’s love for me and the bitterness of his disappointment.”

He turns away, his hayye compressing into a narrow cord. I will not be with him like this, but when I try to leave, he holds me fast. Ignited by my frustration, my energy surges forth, forcing him to release me. “I can give myself to whomever I choose.” His eyes widen. “And I choose you. But I will be well met!”

His brown eyes soften with unshed tears. “I love Teoma, too. I do not know how I can feel this way when one of my greatest wishes was that you would come to love one another… just not as you do.” His hayye, now liquefied by his honest expression of despair, expands into its original fullness. He responds to my tentative kiss with a fervent passion that threatens to consume. Will our relationship always be so volatile or will it mellow with time?

At dusk, I slip on grass green silk in preparation to celebrate Yeshua’s eighteenth birthday. Delighting in the sensuous feel of the gown, I twirl around the room and nearly collide with his mother. Raised hands clasped together, I attempt to beg her forgiveness, but she lowers my hands to the level of her breasts, looking intently into my eyes. A golden energy surges from her hands into mine and the next moment, I am transported to another time.

We are in the desert with wild flowers blooming all around. I am very young, perhaps six or seven, dressed in a pure white tunic. Walking quickly with my hands tightly cupping something fuzzy, I see her coming toward me from some large white tents. Tall and light-skinned with auburn brown hair, she holds my small hands gently as a warm golden hayye begins to seep from her palms. The tiny fuzzy body begins to move and gasping, I open my hands. The once injured queen bee explores my palms before taking flight, pausing briefly to buzz her dance of gratitude. I look up into my mother’s soft brown eyes.

And I am transported to the present time, looking into Miriam’s eyes. “You see, Mary, why it is so natural for me to treat you as my daughter.” I am overwhelmed by emotion. “Come, dear, it is time to greet the guests.” Taking my hand, she leads me down the corridor. I am home.

Wandering through the crowd of strangers with sweet pomegranate wine warming my blood, I seek Yeshua but he pays me little heed attending instead to his teachers from the east. Children play around the fountain illuminated by many oil lamps. In the midst of all the foreign tongues, greetings in Aramaic catch my attention. Yeshua embraces an imposing figure on the landing. My knees begin to shake.

Broader in the chest and shoulders, Teoma takes his leave when Yeshua turns to greet another guest. He heads my way. I do not move for I wish to speak with him. “Mary, you look lovely tonight.” Although his eyes are intent only on my own, I feel naked under his gaze.

“Teoma, may we speak in private?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why certainly, but first let us share some shekar in celebration of Yeshua’s birthday.” After securing two cups of wine from a servant, he leads me deep into the pepper tree grove south of the outer courtyard. The delicate branches touch the ground, but close to the trunk is an open space. We are alone, hidden from the crowd.

Setting the wine aside carefully, he takes off his cloak and spreads it before me. We sit. “First, we drink to Yeshua’s happiness,” he raises his cup to mine and swallows down half of it. I sip mine, already feeling dizzy. “What do you want to discuss?”

Was it not just this morning that we parted, heat steaming off our chests? Taking a deep breath, I begin, “Teoma, I did not realize how you felt about me and the depth of my feelings for you.”

He looks down at the cup in his hand and, lifting it to his mouth, finishes the shekar in one swallow. His voice is gruff now perhaps from the wine but I sense it is emotion, “What are you saying, Mary?”

When I gently touch his hand, his deep green hayye melts like candle wax. “I love Yeshua, truly I do, but I believe that I also love you.” His breath stops for a long moment and I wait till he catches it again. “I knew that I had to release you this morning but selfishly I did not.”

The masculine thickening in his throat rises like a wave. Sitting up, he clasps his hands together as if in prayer, staring at me expectantly. I take his hands in mine. Born into wealthy Tzadokim families, ours would be a more socially acceptable match. I love Yeshua, but our breach with custom will make our lives difficult indeed. “Teoma, I wish to choose my own destiny…” Halting, I breathe deeply, “if you will but…kiss me.”

Teoma’s jaw stiffens as he gathers his resources, “You are a temptress, but Yeshua is like a brother to me and I cannot do this.”

I knew he would be honorable, but I must be sure. So moving a bit closer, I clasp his hands to my heart. His breath quickens. “Teoma, please, how can we live like this, not knowing?”

“Mary,” his voice is hoarse with emotion, “no matter what you might find in our embrace, my feelings will not change. I love you. But I also love Yeshua. I am committed to honoring what is his…,” swallowing, he says resolutely, “you and your future children.”

Music interrupts our reverie. “Mary, finish your shekar and go dance. I must take my leave.” He draws his hands from mine gently before standing and helping me to my feet.

“At least you can watch me dance before you go.”

“No, my dear, it is not my turn.” Teoma turns me away from him. “Go dance for your beloved.” With a sob, I run from the cover of the pepper tree, his prophetic words throbbing in my ears.

East of the fountain, the men dance, the women on the other side. Looking for Yeshua, I circle the dancers in time to the music, a surge of spiraling hayye drawing me into the center of the courtyard. Dancing with the energies faster and faster, my body light, my head spinning, the crowd of onlookers becomes blurred. Finally the face I search for comes clear. I dance around my betrothed yet there is no escaping my unresolved feelings. Yeshua speaks my name, but does not move with the music. His voice seems so very far away, his face fades, the music stops.

I am being carried, my head hanging back over someone’s arm. When I open my eyes, the world spins so fast, my stomach lurches in response. I groan. “She stirs.” Miriam speaks but it is not she who carries me.

“Ima, please let me take her to my chambers.” It is Yeshua who bears my weight.

“No, son, it is enough. She needs to rest now from the excitement and from you.”

Yeshua tightens his grip, then stops so abruptly that my dizzy head might fall onto the floor. “Ima, please. I will take better care of her.” I try again to open my eyes and my stomach threatens to empty itself upon us all.

“Yeshua, I have never seen you like this, not being considerate of another. Mary will be your wife, but she doesn’t belong to you.” Miriam’s tone is severe. “She should be in the chamam with women who can tend to her needs, not entertaining you. In twelve days you will be wed, if she does not become too ill to participate in the ceremony.”

Finally, he acquiesces and lays me gently on his sisters’ bed. I whisper his name. Gathering me into his arms, he does not let go when Miriam returns with wet cloths. “Yeshua, it is time for you to say goodbye to our guests.”

With a gentle kiss on my forehead, he leaves me wanting, still not knowing the truth in my heart.

Dod Joseph,

I pray you have found comfort for I know that it has been difficult since Doda passed away. I wish not to burden you, but I suffer. My beloved is to be wed to my best friend and brother. This is our destiny and I hope to find salvation in serving Yeshua and protecting what is his.

If only my love for Mary was not reflected in her heart, perhaps I could find a wife of my own. Yeshua’s parents explained the importance of my participation in their sacred union, but I must gather all of my courage to be present with grace.

Pray for me, Dod. Please let me return with you after the wedding until the passion cools to a more bearable flame. I am in your debt.

In trust and honor, your nephew,

Teoma

The women have taken over the chamam, the perfume of essential oils and fresh cut flowers saturating my senses. All morning they have bathed me, massaged my body, even using honeyed strips of linen to pull the hair from my limbs. Miriam approaches with a cup of steaming tea. In spite of her insistence that Yeshua and I be separated until our wedding day, I cannot help but return her smile.

“Now drink this, Mary. It will help you heal.”

A familiar sweet fragrance is sharpened by a foreign odor. “Ima, I recognize anise, but what else is in it?”

“Ginseng from the east and chaste berry from the north. You will learn this and more from the Essene healers. It will strengthen your womb so that your first conception may not be lost.” She leaves me to rest only after I finish the tea.

Although I trust her, the idea of enhancing my fertility reminds me of my vows to choose my own destiny. I drift into sleep.

A glorious light enters my dream world—the Archangel Gavriel, my secret friend since childhood. I am taught that since the beginning, women have been able to choose fertility but relinquished their power to men long ago, suffering ever since from the pain of bearing too many unwanted children.

How might I control my fertility without forsaking the pleasures of my marriage bed? The angel smiles and leads me directly into my body. Narrow at the entrance, my womb widens into a large cavern filled with rich blood for the nourishment of a child. At the end are two identical openings and through one narrow tunnel lined by feathers I am encouraged onward. The end widens into a flower, which hangs over a tiny pale pomegranate filled to popping with many, many eggs. Some are ripening and others are dormant —the essence of my future children.

Finally I am shown how, through intention and desire, I may cast a protective white light around my organs sealing them from my husband’s seed. When I desire a child, all I must do is release the protective energy and invite my child’s hayye into my gan eden.

I awaken to express my gratitude for the angelic guidance, the tiny stone in the pouch at my neck heavy and warm.