Woman in Red: Magdalene Speaks

by Krishna Rose

  Passing doors on both sides of the narrow hallway, I noticed that they too were eerily bolted closed, as if by enchantment. Slowly, ritually, we processioned yonder, eventually coming upon a towering enclosure. Four arched doorways loomed, one at each end of the chamber, commanding the dignified, yet daunting thoroughfare, upon which was written strange words that I could not decipher.

  The walls, draped with handwoven tapestries, seemed to depict accounts of legends and prophecies. Beside each door, hung upon iron holders, were lit torches, marking a composed ambiance. A shiver ran up my spine, for there was a cold, soulless, whistling in the air. Upon hearing the sound, guards appeared from within the shadows, standing to attention like soldiers waiting for command.

  The High-Priest turned to face me. Quivering, I suddenly felt unsteady on my feet. I had a sense that whatever lay beyond these doors, would not be for the fainthearted. The High-Priest, recognizing my trepidation, reached into his robe, handing me my wishing stone. I was grateful, since it gave me a swift exit, if needed. I was ready to face the mysteries of life, boldly, for the sake of all.

  “Should I go alone or will you be coming with me?” I asked.

  “This is a journey you must take alone, Mary,” he said in a steady voice, as if sensing my uneasiness, calming me with fatherly reassurance.

  Examining each of the four exits, I considered carefully which one to choose first, deciding upon the door straight ahead. As I came upon it, the guard stepped to one side, military fashion, announcing “Hail to the Door in the North, where all things are revealed and from which none return.”

  The world faded like a distant dream. I was instantly filled with a twisted sense of despair, as if a great disappointment had seized me. Gripping the stone tight in my hand, I wished for something beyond the gloom, which seemed to want to crawl under my skin. What was this cheerless place which threatened to overpower me?

  As if in answer to my need, someone tall and bright appeared from within the dark space. The silvery being, stopped just short of me, reaching for my hand. His wordless loving energy drenched me. Trusting in him, he led me forth, gliding above the bottomless space below, far into the colorless North.

  Above our heads ran a skeleton-like river, like a bloodless vein in a stormy sky. Trees hung in the air—inverted. Nothing here was familiar to me. Things were random and there was a palpable sense of danger everywhere. The natural order of our world had been rearranged, for all things here were reversed, upside-down.

  A searing cold bit at my ankles. The air changed. A somber examining force enclosed me, growing darker and more imposing with each uneasy movement.

  The silvery being was bedecked with grey watery hair which glowed like frost against the stark shadows of this strange topsy-turvy land. His hand held mine tight, as he led me through the disquiet, which we journeyed united in purpose. A slow dolorous bell rang in the distance. It rolled through the darkness like thunder. There was just enough light to catch sight of large icebergs jutting out of the overhanging ebony sea. It was a sort of painful beauty, as bursting rainclouds hung mournfully around the edges of the rough-hewn glaciers. Their melancholy brought tears to my eyes.

  “Here, grief follows the dead,” the angelic being said in a faltering voice. “The ghostly clouds you see, are the heartache and tears of those left behind. Therefore do not look upon them, lest cheer be gone from you forever.”

  Averting my eyes, sensing doom near at hand, a phantom-like sound hung suspensefully in the air. Its unfeeling stillness was deafening. I wasn’t sure what it signaled, but something was afoot which shook me from the inside out.

  An army belonging to the Queen of the Underworlds, held fast the dead, who had recently been summoned to repay their debts. Appearing out of thin air, they marched barely inches from us, draped in swaying white robes, bearing moonlit lanterns in their hands as they paced in perfect symmetry. By the light of their lamps, I could see scores of shadow souls, who I presumed had recently perished. Draped in blankets of inky darkness, they crouched low, hanging fearfully above the depths—dragged by fate.

  Lurking, they pleaded, begging with all their might not to be taken to whatever lay ahead. Their fear reached into my bones. Each of them cowering alone, tasted the bitter realization of what their impending placement meant and what that might bring—which depended entirely upon how they had spent time in life. I could sense how it had suddenly dawned on them, that their time on earth had expired, and my heart felt heavy at seeing their regret.

  After some time, we came upon a loch where a boatman waited to collect me. The angelic being who had been my guide, remained on the shore. Only I would board the vessel—crossing the same path as all sorrowful souls. The ferryman put out his hand, expecting payment, and in that moment, I realized that I had no silver by which to cross his palm. He laughed, recognizing me as a traveler, not a resident of death, thus he ushered me aboard with a smirk upon his face.

  Pulling my hooded robe low over my head, he maneuvered the boat across the mysterious star-filled lake towards a foggy island in the distance—the Isle of Judgement. “Souls departing the lands of the living come ‘ere to learn of their missed chances in life, Mistress,” he addressed me. “By poor use of free will, choices made, are ‘ere returned to ‘em,” he said in a husky voice, hunched over the oars which plunged into the languid waters.

  The ghostly moans of the vulnerable dead surrounded us and compassion flooded my heart. Once my eyes adjusted to the intensity of the darkness, I caught sight of their anguished faces—a profusion of souls crying out in a sad drone of remorse and penitence. Yet no one was there to hear their wretched grasping sobs, for all were deaf to each other. Alone with the reality of the payback before them, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead, they were frightened. This was a tragic spectacle of affliction.

  The Queen of the Underworld greeted me as the boat came ashore. Like an eclipse in the darkness—she brought such a blackout, that the darkness suddenly seemed light in comparison. She was the one who held dominion over the entrance to the underworlds. She was fearsome, yet magnificent to behold, having a deliberate indifference towards the uneasy hoard of souls who groped at her, hopeful of her mercy—which in life they themselves had been unwilling to dispense.

  Over a thousand hand maidens brought up the rear, with scales and feathers for skin. Scabbards held their swords which draped from their tiny waists, and silver whistles hung around their necks.

  “Mary Magdalene,” the Queen addressed me. “You have blessed these lands with your heavenly presence. It is an honor,” she said, seemingly genuinely delighted. “The faithless and carefree were entirely unconcerned with the afterlife,” she said, waving her hand over the sea of souls. “They believed in nothing except their own security, while spiritual security has been left to chance. Opportunity afforded itself to them on countless occasions, offering a guarantee of safe travel in the hereafter—yet they gave it no credence. They scoffed at it!” the Queen chortled with an icy expression, moving about without tenderness or care.

  “They preferred a life of vulgarity and wickedness!” she jeered, raising her arms, evaluating them with her frosty stare, while the gathered throng of souls cowered in terror. “The discomfort dispensed here, whispers stories of their malice. So do not pity them. From here, they are taken by my command to the deep waters of the underworld, where all wrongs are made right,” the Queen brooded, swishing her long sweeping skirt, which like a train, trailed behind her somberly.

  “I am charged with endowing punishment upon them. In death they find their own neglect and this is the perfection of the creation. As it measures righteous starvation for balance’s sake. Dive into the depths of the afterlife and you shall find me there. But fear me not, for you are my guest here . . .” she said politely, turning to meet my gaze. My ha
irs bristled on the back of my neck.

  “These chambers will reveal to you the Hall of Mirrors, where all lessons are ultimately learned. As guardian of the inner realms, you are most privileged amongst women. You may find a power here by which to lead the blind from their self-rule. To many, you shall be their guide, and since this place is the certain fate of those who bound themselves to misery in the hereafter,” she said in a wise, all-knowing voice, “take fortitude in knowing, that in time, all are returned and given opportunity to extricate themselves from their self-appointed sorrow. By touching these shores, and suffering such dire consequences—once restored, they vow never to return. Therefore, even great tyrants are here overturned. In time, even they learn to shield themselves from wickedness, as they surrender gratefully—obedient to the Lord’s will.

  “There is a design to all things. But know this, it is of humanity’s own making what they weave in the fabric of their experience,” she said, motioning for me to come closer. “Do not fear me, Mary. Come,” she said sweetly, sensing my angst. “I have expected you—for there were signs of your arrival. I have witnessed your compassion, which knows no ends . . .” she said, staring out over the lake.

  “You are fortunate, for you are free to care. Here in these desolate lands, I have lost my ability to perceive what is before me. As day after day, I am duty bound to bring justice to those who have sinned against humanity. As a consequence, I am desensitized. I no longer feel remorse. All care has left me. My heart is hardened by my work here. Yet today you have blessed me, for I sense your deep concern for those who suffer here, and it has moved me. Thank you for leaving me with such a gift,” she said, gracefully drifting away into the hurtling shadows below—pursued by a throng of souls who grasped at her gown as she swept by, only to be dismissed, as water is dismissed from air. Defeated, they slipped and slithered hopelessly back into the obligation of their atonement.

  The Queen motioned with the flick of her hand for the boatman to take me from her Isle, as she and her handmaiden’s whirled like a tempest into the darkness. The soulless sound of silence carried me to the shore, where the angelic being had waited to deliver me unharmed to the North door.

  I prayed for strength and fortitude, for the living know not what awaits them. If they did, their choices in life would undoubtedly be altered forever.

  The High-Priest had a look of anticipation on his face upon seeing me. Words were not needed, for both he and I knew that my visitation here would be like oil on the fire of my determination. I prayed that the people I would meet in life, would be turned from such a crossing, previously neglectful of imminent death which comes for us all. Concerned for the souls who had left this world without recognizing their ordinance, I vowed to be a compass by which all could navigate themselves away from certain peril.

  “The Lord’s name is holy, the Lord’s name is holy, the Lord’s name is holy,” I whispered to myself.

  Finally, after endless days and nights of travel, we arrived in Gallia. I was heavy with child, and to stand upon the stillness of land after so long, felt good. Grateful for it, I kissed the ground. I couldn’t wait to smell my sister’s baking, and now that I was imagining it, my mouth salivated at thought of it.

  The men and women of our new community in Gallia were thrilled to see us returned, yet disappointed that Jesu had chosen to remain. As was I. Martha, Lazarus, and Mary-Salome, fussed over us, insisting we stay with them until the babe was born and I was glad of it. It was good to be back home in the bosom of my family once more. I needed to prepare myself to give birth.

  Martha’s home had a distinctive smell about it which always made me hungry. And once I had settled in, she happily brought me delicious things to eat so that I could go into confinement, to strengthen my resolve for what lay ahead—birth. Uncle and Anna, soon after, said their tearful goodbyes, parting for Brittania. He now felt secure to take his leave and care of his own matters at hand.

  Mary-Jacobi had left for Ephesus immediately upon receiving The Mary’s invitation, which made me well pleased. I too was feeling grateful to have Martha and Mary-Salome for company once more. ‘The bonding of women is more nourishing and wondrous than the greatest of feasts,’ I thought to myself.

  I received news of Peter and Paul’s preaching in the City of Alexandria. I prayed for them both, imagining them walking through the streets teaching Jesu’s message. Two Jews with their long hair, long beards and stately manner—approaching the local Egyptian people for our sake. ‘May the Lord bless them,’ I prayed. My heart had been turned. Death had made me more mindful of my own need to show kindness, even to those who were at times wearisome.

  Peter and Paul were requesting help from our brethren, for the circle about them had become a crowd—more than the two of them could manage. Therefore, I sent Peter a letter suggesting that he write to James, as no doubt he could supply them with men.

  Most people in Egypt had by now heard rumors of the risen King. But it was a completely different story when being heard from the lips of someone who knew the Master—who could repeat the teachings and stories of his resurrection verbatim. Hence, the enthralled crowds flocked to them to hear of Jesu’s miracles and inconceivable resurrection. The new followers began to contemplate a different way of living, therefore we considered their preaching a triumph. After the things I had witnessed, I was grateful if any person took to the streets to offer a cure.

  Just three months prior to Sarah-Tamar’s first wedding, I gave birth to Josephes-Yehuda, who we nicknamed Joses. He came like a cherub into my arms. The astrologers predicted that the child had come to lead the people out of darkness. Joses was golden-skinned with light-green eyes, dark curly hair, and a sweet-smelling plump body.

  While I rested and recovered, lying peacefully in my birth chamber with our newborn suckling in my arms, Martha and the village ladies busied themselves, making marriage arrangements for Sarah-Tamar’s union with her Prince. Together our bloodlines would go on to become the House of Asturias, so a wedding fit for a Princess was meticulously organized and paid for by the Houses of Benjamin and David. It was to be a lavish occasion befitting the binding of our prestigious families.

  Everywhere Sarah-Tamar went, people were curious about her. She had John’s strange edgy power, and my thick dark, reddish hair. She stood out. Her character was noble, her wisdom was beyond her years and her spirit was free. Eager to be married to the man whom she loved, she would now go forth and create her own home and family. She had long since been living a painfully insecure life, with unassured safety. Hers had certainly, thus far, not been what one would call, an easy life.

  I was asked to send our family crest to Compostela, since we would now be joined Houses. Supposedly this was customary of dignitaries and aristocrats in these parts. Therefore, Sarah-Tamar and I sat for days with pen to paper, drawing and scribbling ideas for a Messianic family crest.

  The first choice was a circle with a star in its center, representing the Houses of Benjamin and David united. The second, was a lion in flames with three cubs at its feet, representing the lion of Judah and our three children. The third, since I had seen it in a vision, was the one we eventually chose. From memory, I drew what my sight had brought to me in the Lake of Dreams—three leaves of lily, united in God, each representing the fertile fruits of our vine, Sarah-Tamar, Jesus Justus, and Joses.

  IMAGE: Fleurs de Lis – Symbolic of the House of Mary Magdalene

  The wedding festivities were held within the grounds of the old King’s castle. The King had been ailing, so I made time for him, in order to prepare him for death. Confessing his sins, which were many—I baptized him, praying for his soul.

  The castle was a colossal stronghold, with moats and many soldiers protecting it. The bubbly pretty ladies of the court took us in and showed us great kindness. I was worn fro
m nursing and lack of sleep, so the Queen generously sent maidservants to our chambers to decorate us and prepare us for the wedding. Bathing us in milk and honey, we were rubbed down with oils and powder of gold. Our dry, travel-worn skin, drank up the attentions like flowers in the desert rain. Sarah-Tamar glowed with youthful, blushing-hope for her future.

  The festivities lasted for a week and soon thereafter, Sarah-Tamar and her new husband left for Compostela to begin their marriage. Weeping, we women prayed over the young couple and my heart broke to see the golden carriage carry my firstborn child from me. I wept deeply that night with Joses and Jesus Justus snuggled up close, lamenting the tragic, temporary nature of earthly love.

  Returning to our commune, I was very down in the mouth. My daughter was gone, Jesu and I were miles apart, and soon Jesus Justus would leave for schooling in Caesarea.

  Word soon came thereafter, that Sarah-Tamar was with child, and her second marriage was celebrated just as lavishly as the first. Nine months later their son, Joshua, our first grandchild, arrived. Jesus Justus, Joses, and I, travelled to Compostela to celebrate the new life given unto us. My daughter was now a mother, by the Lord’s good mercy, and so our vine grew.

  I held her firstborn child in my arms until they ached. Joses finally screamed for the breast and the two women, mother and daughter, sat together nursing, peacefully contented.

  I received a letter from Jesu. In it, he spoke of a horrifying slaughter which had taken place in Mathura and Vrindavan just weeks after we had left. Radical Buddhists had seized the village and set about destroying the temples—burning scriptures and breaking the local people’s deities. Forcing the locals to convert to their faith or face certain death, they murdered many in cold blood.