Revelations of the Aquarian Age

by Barbara Hand Clow

  “It occurred to me, but doesn’t make sense. This is not how I feel about you, yet why can’t I paint anything else? My multilayered works seem to be eluding me because of this damned single image. Do you think this is any good?”

  “It is very gripping and powerful, it will stun the critics. Scenes like this were common during the Renaissance, yet your version is contemporary because it is very psychological. People will experience the Real Presence when they see it, the thousands that will view it. You are not losing your touch, but what does it mean to you?”

  “I simply have no idea, none. You’d be shocked if you knew how little I know why I paint things. Please, you can say anything; talk to me. Maybe I had to paint it to get beyond myself?”

  Perplexed, Jennifer turned back to the canvas. Jesus was sucking energy into his body from the ground while commanding the surrounding elements as the sky expanded his aura. Mary’s endearing reach for him was creating a magnetic circulation of light between their bodies. Yet, the clouds above boiled like fire stanched in water, pulling his body upward, away. He was ready to fly, but she would not release him. She does mirror the desires I felt for him in Majorca. “While wandering around the Uffizi, I’m always amazed by how often I see the Magdalene with Jesus. She had to have been his wife and disciple; certainly many Renaissance artists thought she was. Since I specialize in capturing images that reveal people’s essence, I wonder why so many Renaissance painters portrayed such obvious intimacy between Jesus and the Magdalene. Now, why are you doing it? Who cares if they were married? Really. The critics praise you for painting biblical themes, a painting style that has been the kiss of death for modern painters. Now this? Now that we’ve married, perhaps you are obsessed with this theme? Mary grovels, yet he wants to fly. Day after day I wait for you to allow me into your soul . . . Maybe you are expressing your struggle with how to handle me? Maybe you are the vessel for this great archetype because I inspire the essential male/female dynamic within your heart? Perhaps, like the Magdalene, I am keeping you from something grand?” She stopped.

  Her words weighed on Armando’s heart and silenced him for a few long minutes. “When this came through me, I bled. Your thoughts challenge me. When my brush approached Mary, her desire to know Jesus twisted my guts. His need to fly drove me crazy. Tell me, my love, as she reaches for him, why does he want to fly beyond Earth? Her desperation makes me feel sick because I feel like he wants freedom from every human grasping for him. She . . . we . . . we’ve all sought his light, especially Sarah. Even the rocks seem to show that the Magdalene is his last chance. I couldn’t let you see this painting until I captured his light this morning, and I did. Can you see it?”

  Jennifer contemplated the painting again looking for how Armando got Jesus to look like he was ready to fly. The light in his upper body intensified exponentially or was it iridescence? Unlike a typical halo, his light came from reflections of lightning flashing in the heavens, golden fingers reaching out of intense storm clouds, a final cataclysm. An awestruck voice squeaked out of her. “Yes, I see it and everyone else will too. Like Fra Angelico, you’ve caught the otherworldly light manifesting in him. This painting is a miracle.”

  He slumped down totally deflated. “For so many years I wondered what Michelangelo thought about while he was up on the scaffolds in the Sistine Chapel. I’ve wondered the same about Fra Angelico. I always thought they portrayed biblical themes for money until the biblical stream came roaring through me; I can’t resist it. I belittled religious themes, yet now I must paint them. Now that I see his light, I want to explore what the other disciples and John the Baptist thought about Mary, about Jesus. But, this archetypal stream could carry me away in a flood that might ruin my sales and reputation. I fear what this could do to our lives, but I can’t stop it. Like a drowning man swimming against a perilous undertow, I have to paint or I will lose my life. Yet, I love you and I want to provide a decent life for our child. Are you sure you can live with a madman?”

  What did I think marriage would be like? Look at my parents, think of Jasmine. His dark eyes were begging her to save him from drowning. Hating his needy burden, again she looked away to the canvas. This time she detected sound in the images, otherworldly waving tones that confused her rational mind. Out of the sheen on the still-moist oil surface, a rainbow emanated, a fusion of sound and light, the energy she followed when she captured her best images in the camera lens. She looked at his desperate expression. “It’s so simple. I’m happy here with you. Whatever you need to do will be fine. This painting is magnificent and will move many people. I will be with you no matter where this stream takes you.”

  Claudia rushed to Tuscany to see the painting of Jesus and Mary Magdalene because Armando hoped she could unravel the mystery. Jennifer said she didn’t mind Claudia visiting his studio alone, but while they were there together in the morning, acidic jealousy ate her alive. She had a horrible time: She couldn’t get any work done, didn’t want to see anybody, and couldn’t even read. She tried walking in the forest, but the trees transformed into black dogs. She kicked a tree hard and cracked her big toe. Now I know . . . now I know what this murderous emotion feels like—jealousy. It’s sickening. Now I know how Jasmine felt. She tried to dispel the thought.

  Armando stood up to draw away the cloth while Claudia sat at the table. After he pulled it, she became totally silent. Then she gasped and coughed. “Claudia, I sense you know something. What’s going on with me?”

  Her dark occluded eyes fixed on the painting like a laser beam. Her legs were crossed with the upper foot encased in a rose-colored espadrille pumping up and down, her mind was whirring like a hard disk. She sat quietly for an agonizingly long period then said crisply, “Why is there a large yellow queen bee on the rock behind the Magdalene’s head?”

  Armando was puzzled and turned around to look behind Mary’s head. “I really don’t know; it’s just there.”

  “Hmmm,” she murmured while calculating. “For me to discuss this, tell me what Jesus is feeling, what is Mary feeling?”

  He paused and stammered, “Well, as Jennifer already said, he seems to be on the verge of ascending but she is pulling him down.”

  “Yes, but,” she interjected, “what does he feel? Try to express it for me, come on.”

  Armando spaced out grasping for something . . . “I, ah, sense that he may have just been pulled out of the sky. She is simply there, he’s trying to go back up but she holds him down.”

  “Okay. What if he is Lucifer the angel of light returning to Earth called in by Sophia the Gnostic wisdom goddess? Are you familiar with that story?”

  “Not really. I’m no more interested in it now than I was when you and I were together. Besides, he’s Jesus not Lucifer. But tell me the story, since you will anyway.” He got up to stand by his painting.

  “It is simple,” she began. “Sophia wanted to create the world—Gaia—filled with creatures who would worship the creator of the universe. With great effort, she made our world out of particles of matter from the waves in the divine mind. All this was fine and beautiful, but she’d disobeyed cosmic law by creating the world without Lucifer, her lover. Reality fragmented and became multilayered because he was left in heaven while she was on Earth—Sophia split the universe! Some Gnostics believed Lucifer came to Earth as Jesus to find her again to reunite and redeem the world.” She paused then continued, “The symbol for this Gnostic teaching is the queen bee, and you painted it on the rock right behind Mary Magdalene! I think you’ve painted the return of Christ to our troubled times, a compelling and exquisite idea. I feel his divine presence as she holds him down while he longs for the sky. Wait until Sarah sees this. Modern Gnostics say he will return as an avatar. Here is the name for your masterpiece, Armando, you have painted the Avatar of the Age of Aquarius!”

  “Jennifer wondered whether Jesus is me and the Magdalene is her. Yet you see Lucifer and Sophia.”

  This disturbed Claudia. She still loved Armando in
many deep ways but was thoroughly done with him. She bored her eyes into Armando’s, which made him feel like he was the one stuck between heaven and earth standing by the side of his canvas. He came to sit down beside her as she said in a sarcastic voice, “If you are fusing with your wife, which I find hard to believe, then perhaps she opened the gate for this painting? What do you think, Armando?”

  “You know what?” he said helplessly. “I know less than you do about what this painting means.”

  “This is your greatest painting so far, so perhaps you don’t need to ask me these questions? Just let it flow! We must leave the bee for later. The databank on the bee and Mary Magdalene is huge, too much for today. I’d like to have lunch with Jennifer.”

  Jennifer felt a huge wave of relief walking down the creaky stairs from the hall to the dining room to join them; all she wanted was to see Armando’s face. Moving swiftly along in a light green sundress, she rushed forward to extend a hand warmly to Claudia who took it smiling as if delighted to see her. “So wonderful to see you, the first time since your lovely wedding. You are a bucolic picture of country beauty.”

  Jennifer looked into Claudia’s intelligent dark eyes and said evenly, “It’s wonderful living here with Armando and his family. I had no idea whether I would like it or not; it’s a joy.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Claudia replied slowly surveying the rustic room with an oak table set for three with stemmed glasses and Spode plate ware. “I’m sure it must be. Few American women would like this routine, but you got used to European ways living in Paris, didn’t you? Come sit with me for a moment while Armando gets the kitchen moving and brings us a drink,” Claudia said, gesturing to the settee as if she were the mistress of the household.

  “I suppose living in Paris made me more comfortable, certainly living in Tuscany with Armando’s parents is wonderful.”

  Gripping, acidic envy burned Claudia’s solar plexus as she listened to Jennifer’s youthful musical voice. Envy slammed her back ten years; she wanted a cigarette. Armando came back with a stiff scotch on the rocks for Claudia and a white wine for Jennifer. Then he went back to the kitchen for his own choice. He lingered to give them a few minutes alone.

  “How is your photography coming along now that you are in the country? Surely it is daunting to live with such a great artist?” Claudia said in a curious voice struggling to sound sincere.

  “Claudia,” Jennifer replied, sounding very determined, “the painting you just saw is remarkable. Because he works so much, my own work is coming along beautifully. After summer, I’ll be in Paris a few weeks to do a major shoot. Our work and life are very pleasant.” As she spoke, Jennifer felt like her sentences were getting all jumbled up in the potent energy coming out of Claudia’s stunning chest, such a sexy woman. She had all of him, she could have him again, and she knows it.

  “What is it really like to live with his parents, the castle routine? What is it that you like about it? I frankly am surprised you do,” Claudia said with very little sincerity left.

  Jennifer closed up when Armando came back to the room with a scotch. He took Jennifer’s hand turning to Claudia. “Thank you for coming to see the painting. As always, you’ve given me insights. Will you share your thoughts about the bee while we have lunch?” He turned back to Jennifer and said, “Claudia noticed I painted a bee behind the Magdalene. I was unconscious of it; never saw it. Did you notice it?”

  “No,” she replied dumbly as they sat down. “What significance could that have, a bee? I’ve heard you know a lot about symbols, Claudia.”

  “Oh, great significance darling, but that is too much for today. I’ll share it, but I need to think about it more myself. I can give you both one aspect: the bee symbolism is related to Artemis, an ancient goddess. Artemis is up above the mosaic of Hermes Trismegistus in Siena Cathedral. Anyway, here’s a toast to happy times together, now and in the future.”

  As they raised their glasses, Jennifer’s throat closed as she struggled to keep up with the all-too-familiar banter that made her feel small, stupid, and rejected, painfully aware of her lackluster responses. Armando glanced over once in a while while Claudia went on talking in a throaty voice, entertaining him the way she used to years ago, flirting to make herself feel charming. Armando couldn’t find a way to stop her since it was just the way she was, especially when she was nervous.

  Jennifer politely tried to keep up hoping she didn’t seem to be a boring American who didn’t know what to say. Things got worse when Claudia slipped into Italian to explain a very subtle concept that Armando was struggling to understand. Armando changed right back to English and turned to Jennifer saying, “Excuse us, Jen. Claudia and I just couldn’t figure that one out without using a few Italian words, words we don’t have in English.”

  “It’s all right,” Jennifer said very quietly.

  All three of them knew it was not all right, especially Jennifer who felt small as she struggled through the rest of the lunch. It was a great relief to wave goodbye to Claudia.

  6

  Holiday in the States

  Simon, Sarah, and Teresa visited Sarah’s parents at their summerhouse in July. When they arrived at the restored quarry house, Sarah’s father, William, captured Teresa by sweeping her into his arms, putting her on his lap, then jiggling the toddler into the air. “I’m Grandpa and all babies love me!” Teresa watched him, about to cry, then she raised her arms high and laughed and laughed.

  Sarah’s mother, Mary, laughed too. “Sarah, she is completely different than you were at this age. You were always quiet and thoughtful like a monk. Teresa is so precocious.”

  “Mom,” Sarah replied softly, “this is the happiest time of my life, being here with Simon while you enjoy Teresa. We are all so lucky, so lucky.”

  “Saar-rah,” William broke in, “even though you are a busy mom, I hear you are finishing a book related to your graduate thesis. How’d you do that?”

  “Simon and I share childcare, Daddy.”

  “That’s a big change from my time,” Mary noted. “Few parents did that back when you were little. Teresa seems calmer with Simon, if you don’t mind me saying so. She certainly is pleased with her daddy.”

  “I don’t mind; it’s true. We even can eat out in restaurants with her because Simon keeps her attention so rapt on whatever he’s doing.”

  Simon deflected the attention back to Sarah. “I’m proud of Sarah because her book is really coming along. That Ph.D. thesis had to be so academic, but her fiction really flows.” Teresa stopped playing the moment she heard Simon’s voice and crawled over to him. He pulled her up, kissing a fat warm cheek while she showered everyone in the room with an enigmatic, knowing expression. Spritz, the family golden retriever, splayed out on the cool stone floor, thumped his heavy tail. Teresa pointed at him and growled.

  “Writing historical fiction is my passion,” Sarah said looking at William. “My characters expose hidden facets of the ideals and environment of our ancestors.”

  “Well, what’s it about?” William demanded. “What are you writing about?”

  Sarah collapsed back in her chair reaching for a lemonade. “Oh, Daddy, I can’t say much about it yet because I’m in the middle of it. My characters are seeking the real Jesus before his identity was buried in dogma. They think he will emerge again in our troubled world, the same stuff I’ve been obsessed with for years.”

  “Do you really think anybody is interested in that, except for Christian fundamentalists?” Mary wondered while glancing around the room perhaps in discomfort about the subject. “Seems to me, different centuries had unique images of Jesus based on what their current theologians said. Yet now people seek him their own way. Is that what you’re doing in your book?”

  “Kinda. Lost documents and archaeological discoveries have revealed much new information in the last few years. A new story of Jesus is emerging as a real man fully in touch with spiritual realms, a normal man, married and a father. This encourages eac
h one of us to be spiritual.”

  William thought his favorite daughter was off on a weird tangent that wouldn’t do anybody any good. “Well, I don’t get it,” he grumbled. “Seems like the people who are actually interested in Jesus—priests, theologians, and hyper-religious fanatics—aren’t going to take your ideas seriously, and regular religious people won’t be interested in this type of book.” Spritz rolled over on his back and splayed his paws out. His flapped-back lips bared large pink gums and white teeth—a mad dog grin accompanied by rolling eyes. Teresa pointed at Spritz and giggled while William went on talking to his silent daughter. “I paid for your Ph.D. to help you get academic standing, and now you’re writing a book that could wreck your credibility. Why would anybody think you have anything to say about Jesus?”

  Teresa focused her determined green eyes on her mother’s face, and then she glared at her grandpa’s firetruck-red face. She shoved Simon’s arm, frowned, and then started to whimper. Simon wanted to hear what Sarah would say back to her father, but he had to turn his attention to Teresa. “There, now, little one,” he said, forcing her to look at his laughing smile. “Grandpa is just being grumpy, just like doggy does.” Teresa stiffened and made a barking sound still glaring defiantly at her grandfather.

  William snorted and laughed. “Looks like the younger generation already knows all about what’s going on. Time for a gin and tonic?” Mary sat back in the rocking chair thinking with her hands crossed above her waist. That little girl understands everything we feel; she’s aware of everyone in this room.

  The heat of the day was building, so after her nap, Teresa’s parents took her to swim in the quarry pond in front of the house. Edged with sculpted rock ledges, the old pit had filled up with spring water and become a deep clear pool a hundred years ago after the last removal of stone. Teresa sat in the cool water splashing joyfully with her hands on a wide shallow ledge with her legs and bottom submerged. Sarah sat right in front of her on a lower step with water up to her waist while Simon swam vigorously out into deeper water. All was silent except for an occasional owl hoot, a snapping branch, or a hawk’s scream. Teresa watched him swim away as she held out her arms crying, “Da da, da duh!”