LoveDance: Awakening the Divine Daughter. Deborah Maragopoulos FNP
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.
Becoming As One
Over the ridge of Nazareth, spring dawns gray and misty. Although light will not penetrate the shaded courtyard window of his chambers until much later, Yeshua slips free of the warm linens to sit cross-legged upon the floor. Hands meet at his heart to give thanks, but unaccustomed to arising so early, Yeshua yawns. Whenever he closes his eyes, a sea-green gaze beckons. He resists the temptation to view through the ethers. Not until under the chupa may he look upon the face of his bride.
Excitement fills the chambers when Jacob arrives announcing, “Saada has baked massah so dress quickly before you go to the mikvah!” Fennel cake crumbs dust the corners of his young brothers’ mouths.
“I cannot break my fast until the wedding feast this afternoon.”
“Where in the Torah…?”
“It is tradition. But take Shimon and Judah to finish their meal, and then you may help me prepare for the ritual bath.”
The children hurry noisily out, waking Teoma. Donning a robe, Yeshua enters his friend’s chambers. Teoma yawns and stretches. “You’re up early. Did Jacob interrupt your meditation?” He nods, smiling. “Well, I am grateful not to have to listen to your snoring anymore.”
“I shall miss you.”
Teoma rises and gives him a rough hug. “Before you go to the mikvah, you are wanted in the garden.” Yeshua does not move until his friend pushes him away with a gruff, “Just take good care of her.”
In the olive grove, Yeshua removes the pouch from around his neck and hands it to Belshazzar. The mystic nods his approval, “You have outgrown the need for my protection.”
Twelve years ago, Zsao traveled from the far Himal range to teach Yeshua the ways of the Awakened One. Smiling, his almond-shaped eyes become mere slits. “Today you journey farther into manhood, but do not lose the joyful innocence of childhood as you live each day in Oneness.”
Reiti sits in an impossible pose. The thin brown teacher from the Hindus replaced Zsao as his teacher when Yeshua was but nine. Three years later, Belshazzar arrived from far away Aksum. Now they return as promised for the most special event of his life—his marriage. At dusk, the mystics shall hold the energy during the unification ritual. A shiver of concern raises the hair on Yeshua’s neck.
Reiti untangles his long limbs and rises with the grace of a crane. “Your dearest friend is deeply wounded.”
Shaking his head, Zsao repeats a long forgotten lesson. “Do not allow worry to occupy space in your being. Release your fear and accept your destiny.”
“I love Teoma like a brother and feel his pain as my own.”
“He honors your friendship and shall give you his blessing this evening.” Belshazzar’s assurance does not allay all of Yeshua’s concerns.
“This morning he asked me to take good care of her. Her mother bemoans that I cannot support her in the rich manner of her father. Without a betrothal ceremony last year, there has not been time, but Teoma would have built her a house with his own hands…”
“Ahh, but your parents have gifted you with a most lovely bridal chamber. At one with nature, Mary shall bask in the experience of sharing intimacies beneath the stars.”
Yeshua’s flushed cheeks bring laughter to their bellies. Still, he worries about Mary struggling to maintain her composure in the face of her mother’s disappointment. Forbidden to see his betrothed before the wedding, he could not even wish her well on her fifteenth birthday, and has been consumed by concern after overhearing Ima complain to Hava that a whole week in their chamam would be diminished by one day in Eucharia’s. The Aksum king clasps his arm.
“Your betrothed is most resilient. She shall perform the first anointing today.”
He thought the women had prepared her for the sacred ritual, not a royal ceremony. How can he be anointed king, while his father and grandfather still live?
Belshazzar’s laughter brightens the morning haze. “Yeshua, you are far from ready to be king; the sacred rite the messeh queen shall perform is the first of eight initiations.”
His eyes widen. Mary is the messeh queen? Only royalty claim this title after being anointed by the High Priest.
“My prince, did you not anoint her upon the altar?” Yeshua nods, throat tight. In his attempt to invite spirit into their physical union, did he claim a priestly privilege? He never questioned where Ima got the sacred spikenard, did Belshazzar…?
The Aksum king nods. But if it is true, today begins his journey to enlightenment! The first of…eight? From the Egyptian Therapeutate, he only learned of seven initiations.
“Two by water, two by fire, two by earth, two by air.” Belshazzar nods at Yeshua’s unspoken query. “The last rite is performed at death.”
Swallowing thickly, he prays to be prepared for the next, “May I ask when the second rite shall be performed?”
Zsao smiles, “The awakening is a long and arduous path. You have much to learn.”
“But who shall teach me? Will you return?”
“Yeshua, those closest are the best teachers. Please take advantage of your wife’s wisdom.” Reiti’s advice is a balm to his ears for he cannot imagine leaving Mary again to travel east.
He thanks each of his dear teachers before passing by the colorfully adorned tent praying his bride will be pleased.
Appeasing his mother, Yeshua covers his fine wedding garments with a cloak before mounting the white donkey. During the walk north, Jacob leads the entourage in song, lightening his brother’s mood. Some of his cousins straggle behind, but Teoma, under Abba’s orders not to be late, shepherds them along. Entering the village of Cana, a quiet synagogue and empty marketplace greets the young men, but the streets leading to the bride’s home swarm with villagers.
“The magistrate invites only Tzadokim to his daughter’s wedding,” a white bearded Chaverim complains. Before Yeshua can address the elder, Teoma nudges him. Herodian guards bar the great wooden gate. Apparently, one of the tetrarchs was invited.
Roman soldiers push the villagers aside making way for the bridegroom. A centurion reins his bay steed close. “May your marriage bear many joyous fruits.”
Yeshua thanks his old friend before entering the immense courtyard. Wealth emanates from the bubbling fountain inlaid with lapis lazuli to the polished marble pillars easily as tall as two men. Servants wash the dust from their feet and hands at an ornate silver kiyyor sitting upon a pedestal before escorting them into a richly draped gathering room. Yeshua is taken aside by his grandfather.
“Saba, why didn’t Jochan come?”
Hillel shakes his head, “Since you did not honor your agreement with the Zadoks, Zechariah refused to allow his son to come.” Yeshua nods, knowing his father is sorely disappointed that his cousins do not support him. “Your bride’s family entertains our enemies.” Hillel points to Herod Phillip speaking intimately to the Roman tribuni. Nearby the kings of Tarsus and Nabataea seek Belshazzar’s attention. In embroidered robes of the finest silk, Tzadokim enjoy ripe cheeses and stuffed figs. The jewels worn by just these few men could be sold to feed half of Galilee.
Even in a simple robe, Joseph sits proudly next to the richly adorned magistrate. Syrus signals for his daughter’s bridal trunk to be opened. The men express their appreciation of the display: exquisite household linens and ceremonial cloths as well as sacred ritual objects used on Shabbat, a copper pomegranate filled with precious fragrant spices, magnificent menorahs, and a pair of gilded sandals for him.