LoveDance: Awakening the Divine Daughter. Deborah Maragopoulos FNP
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