Revelations of the Aquarian Age

by Barbara Hand Clow

  She put her hand on her heart, covered the ruby crystal with her other hand, and stared into the crystal ball again. There she was on a ragged bed in horrible pain from an infected womb after giving birth to a son. Her husband brought her the baby that sucked and fussed while her life ebbed away. She was dead when he took the baby away. Oh my God, that baby has been born again as Teresa! She pressed her hand on her heart putting her left hand on the crystal to cover his familiar little face. Then she put the crystal ball away and went to the couch to think about what she’d just seen. That face of that man . . . who? That bastard was Armando’s past life! She sat up straight to absorb the realization. If Armando had gotten me that day, he would have ruined me and I would feel nothing with Simon, nothing! She already knew that her husband long ago in Portugal was Simon’s previous lifetime. It’s amazing how entangled we are.

  Staring into the low gas flames, she wondered how she could help Teresa feel more secure. Since in a past life she grew up without a mother who died just when she was born, Teresa might be overly sensitive to abandonment. I wonder if that’s why she gets so upset when Simon leaves? Seeing Teresa as a boy was very compelling. Who really fathered him? I wonder if I knew back then? Often royalty fathered the firstborn of pretty peasant women. In this life she was beyond Armando and experiencing sexual joy with Simon. Well, then, since I’m alive and we have Teresa with us again, I am beyond who I was before. I can make her feel secure, and I will, right away. This is not the past. We are all back together again to evolve, especially Armando. No wonder I was able to forgive him and grow to love him.

  She sat down at the kitchen table to write. Recalling her conversations with Simon during the last two weeks when they talked about Yazidi spirituality, words for Teresa flowed while tears dampened her cheeks. The phone rang. He always called when it was morning in Iraq.

  “Hello, Sarah, I had a good day. Amnesty International is really helping the Yazidis. They are over here interviewing escapees from warehouses and the sexual slavery auction marketplaces, and the truth about what they’re doing is actually coming out, things that normally never see the light of day, incredible that such barbarity still goes on in the modern world. I miss you so terribly much, and I miss Teresa. I would give anything to be with you in the kitchen right now. Are you writing tonight?”

  Sarah flushed with warmth hearing his soft, articulate, caring voice. “Sweetheart, I really am okay. Teresa’s not doing as well as I’d like, so I’m writing a story for her about Yazidi beliefs. Since you left, I’ve been gathering information about them. They are utterly fascinating, one of the oldest and purest religions in the world. Have you heard about the Peacock Angel?”

  “Sure. As usual, we’re on the same track. Yazidi religion goes so far back that it makes me think their ancestors of some 11,000 years ago must be the ones who built Göbekli Tepe. Of course, this can’t be proven, but the way they’ve saved their ancient traditions, such as that story of the Peacock Angel, makes me think this is possible, and they’ve protected their bloodline for 10,000 years. To this day, marriage outside their group is forbidden, and no one is ever allowed conversion into their religion. ISIS is trying to wipe out their genetic line by raping the women and girls with blonde hair and blue eyes, the reverse of Hitler, an insane attempt to adulterate Aryan genes instead of breeding them! They have survived many attempted genocides, and their suffering is incomprehensible. ISIS is trying to destroy the heart of their culture, their women. Unbelievable! Letting that painful subject go, I must say good night, my love. Give Teresa a kiss from me.”

  The next morning, Sarah pulled Teresa up on her lap to share her Yazidi creation story:

  “Long ago, the Peacock Angel, a magical bird, flew off Earth with seven sacred angels. Peacock Angel was the most beautiful bird in the world with a great fan of rainbow-colored feathers tipped with large eyes, god’s eyes. Peacock Angel spread out its great fan to show Adam, the first man, that the waters will always flow, the sun will always shine, and the moon will cast its long shadows reminding us of the phases of time. The Peacock Angel is the divine creator who radiates nature’s essence, the force that creates life.

  “Eventually tired of being on Earth and wanting to fly away, Peacock Angel summoned six beautiful angels—Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, the leader—to care for Adam. We come from Adam and the people of the Peacock Angel guided by these same angels. With Mercury came awareness; from Venus, love; and on Earth they made their home. With Mars they learned to struggle; with Jupiter to make their fortunes; and Saturn taught them agriculture. Whenever the ages change, Peacock Angel returns to make sure they remember how to live the good life.

  “Greater than the beautiful Peacock Angel is the magnificent Divine Essence, pure light. When the ages shift, Divine Essence makes a Whirling Ceremony—dervishes turning round and round to germinate the new Tree of Life. Peacock Angel perches in the burgeoning great tree spreading out his long iridescent feathers tipped with all-seeing eyes to watch each person. Daddy is with the people of the Peacock Angel because they are very troubled. Evil men want to destroy their way of life, yet they are primal caretakers of Earth. Daddy calls Peacock Angel to spread his fan in the Tree of Life to gaze at his beautiful people, then he will come home to you.”

  Teresa’s bright eyes glistened while listening to her mother’s story. She laughed when Sarah drew a picture of the Peacock Angel fanning out his feathers tipped with many eyes. She slid off Sarah’s lap to put the picture on her toy box and put a rubber elephant on top and patted it.

  12

  Deep Secrets

  A fierce December storm rattled the French doors of Jennifer and Armando’s room in Rome as she stood out on the balcony watching the Ilex trees sway. Strong winter winds from the Libyan Desert coming across the Mediterranean were bending the stately trees in the Borghese Gardens just beyond their high walls. Tree branches cracking every few minutes were like whips snapping in the raspy, purring wind that ground into the thick red sandstone exterior walls. She wrapped her sweater tighter as she thought about Tuscany, yet sirens on the street below reminded her she was in Rome. She heard Armando’s voice calling from inside. She came inside to greet him hoping he’d have some free time, since his latest show was hanging in the gallery through Christmas. Cold rain pelted the shutters—clack, clack—as he set a fire. Color emerged in precious embroidered fabric lit up by the glowing, flickering flames.

  He brought her a port in a delicate etched glass, handing it over to her as she snuggled in the large reading chair next to the growing fire. Then he sat down on an opposite bench. “Well, now that I have some time, I want to know about you and Lorenzo. You have been so patient, beautiful lady, yet I know how it is with Lorenzo. So, as you discover yourself, do you feel more secure?” He leaned in studying her face, dramatized by the amber flames.

  She gazed back scrutinizing him as the port moistened her full ruby lips. Marriage had softened his catlike rapacious body making him look a little less hungry. I wonder if I should just tell him? “Lorenzo could pull the truth out of anybody, even me, all the things I’d just as soon forget. Yet, still I think we should be careful about revealing the past. I am finding some things in analysis that explain why I’m plagued with jealousy. It isn’t about Claudia, not at all.”

  He stroked her arm turning her closer to make her swing her long legs over the arm of the chair. Gleaming paneled walls enhanced her glowing skin as he massaged her muscular upper thigh while enjoying the softness of her crushed velvet pants. “She can’t be the cause, so I’m thrilled you are seeing Lorenzo, since she’s my friend. We were never right for each other because we are too much alike, both too intense. You seem to be feeling more secure, which really supports me after spending the day going crazy. You relax me, and I seem to calm you. May I ask you one thing, and don’t answer if you don’t want to.” She smiled in assent. “I’ve heard that when a woman is plagued with jealousy, sometimes it is because her father was unfa
ithful to her mother, something she discovered when she was growing up. Is that the problem?”

  “Oh, no,” she uttered with alarm. “My father has always been loyal to my mother. She never had reason to be jealous.” Regardless, her eyes were murky because the question reminded her of the pain she’d inflicted on Jasmine.

  He saw the conflicting thoughts and feelings in her panicky eyes and figured she was protecting her father. But he wasn’t going to push it because he wasn’t going to share more about himself. His thoughts drifted off to his latest work, a large canvas where the rape of the Sabines was emerging. “Well, I’m happy it’s not David, since I’ve thought of him as a rare man of great integrity. My father is very taken with him and wants him to come to Rome for a week or so, which would be so great for Sarah.”

  “I would love to have my father come again,” she said as the sight of Jasmine, a harried mother of small children trying to get through the day, flashed in her mind. Perhaps I’ll feel less guilty if I tell my father? I wonder whether I should just tell Armando the truth? She glanced at him kneading her upper thigh, which felt demanding. “Lorenzo says we should keep our sessions private at this point, yet maybe it won’t always be that way.” She stroked the black hair on his arm, supple because he used all his arm muscles while painting.

  “Meanwhile . . .” he pulled her close and breathed hungrily on her neck wanting to stop talking. “We have two hours before dinner, let’s take advantage of it. I adore you, my dear wife.”

  Later they dined alone with Pietro and Matilda. Heavy dark beams lit by beeswax candles from Tuscany enhanced the medieval feeling of the room. “Matilda, you look especially lovely tonight; your color is so vital.”

  “Oh yes? Well, thank you, Jen,” she replied showering them with a warm smile. “I braved the wind and went for a long walk in the Borghese Gardens. I should do it every day.”

  “I suppose you spent most of your day in the library, Dad?” Armando asked.

  “Indeed. Today I reread Livy’s version of the rape of the Sabines. For me now, as a result of the news on ISIS and the Yazidi women, I think Livy was trying to make our ancestors look good. I think he covered up the truth when he says they were not raped. The Romans abducted them to marry them when their king refused to let the Romans settle here. We are descended directly from that abduction or rape. We are a combination of the original Romans and the Sabines; violence and abuse boils in our blood.”

  Pietro prattled on searching for the most eloquent words, so he didn’t notice that Armando was staring with his mouth hanging open. “That is what you were doing today?”

  “Sure. Why is that so surprising?”

  “Because I just started a large painting titled Rape of the Sabine Women yesterday! I’m struggling to depict their fear, agony, and horror, yet as I was painting, I felt their excitement as virgins.”

  “Really?” Pietro sputtered, putting his knife down as Matilda listened and Jennifer paled. With the blood drained out of her face, she looked ghostly.

  Jennifer broke in. “What inspired you to paint Rape of the Sabine Women?”

  “I’m not sure to be truthful. Visions of the scene were torturing me, and I couldn’t stop myself. Painting the scene was very erotic.”

  Matilda had noticed a thick sexual fog around the couple all day.

  Jennifer shot him a knowing look and said, “What an astonishing synchronicity!”

  Pietro nodded his head in agreement. “Armando, you and I are due for a long talk in the library, don’t you think?”

  Jennifer was deep in thought. It makes me nervous, him painting the rape of the Sabines. Why would that bother me? She had no idea Armando might be processing his own issues about raping women, but she could feel it. Matilda cast a glance at Armando seeing he was pleased to be invited to talk by his father; she knew perfectly well why he was drawn to the rape of the Sabines.

  The great pre-Christmas storm in Rome finally ended. Fallen trees and branches were picked up and power was restored.

  Armando had kept his painting of Jesus and Mary Magdalene out of the latest show. As his eyes scanned the figure of Jesus beseeching Mary Magdalene to rise, they fixed on the fat yellow queen bee on the rock behind the Magdalene’s head. I don’t remember putting it there. What does it mean? The only one who has any idea is Claudia. He picked up the phone to call.

  Claudia was relaxing in her apartment, wondering whether she should sell it and move in with Lorenzo, when the phone rang.

  There was a long pause after his explanation and invitation. Then Claudia said, “After I saw the painting in Tuscany, I was so intrigued by the bee that I came home and reviewed my sources. A new book on the subject has come out, so I read it. But, darling, this issue is so complicated that you will not believe it. I can’t explain it without being with you and the painting. I am free today.”

  Jennifer came to mind, but he let it go since she’d admitted Claudia was not the cause of her jealousy. Besides, Jen had an appointment with Lorenzo this afternoon and was going to look at antiques in the Trastevere afterward. How perfect is that? “Sure, come on over. Go through the gate, park behind the coach house, come up the path, and knock on my studio door. I’ll be here.”

  Pulling open the heavy wooden door, Claudia came in wearing loose black pants and a red high-necked tunic. “How are things with Lorenzo? I’m happy for you. I can’t imagine two people more suited to each other.” He smiled warmly enjoying the thought of her happiness.

  “Yes, who would have ever imagined? I’ve never felt so fulfilled and supported. He’s such a great human being. After what you and I went through, who would have thought we’d both do so well? Sometimes things actually do turn out for the best.”

  He rested a hand on her shoulder, which reminded her of his incredibly sensitive fingers as they approached the painting propped up beside an old wooden table with a bottle of wine, a basket of French bread, and a plate of cheese with fresh fruit. “I put together a small lunch while you were on the way because it is so kind of you to come right over. Thank you, Claudia. I really appreciate it.”

  She took a chair and reached for some grapes. Funny. Now we’re just comfortable old friends. “Armando, you will have to listen carefully to absorb some really complicated facts. The bee will not make any sense without understanding some deep secrets about Jesus and Mary Magdalene, things that will never be authenticated by conventional theologians.”

  “You mean the Dan Brown thing?” he broke in.

  “No, darling, way beyond Dan Brown, but what do you think about his ideas in The DaVinci Code? Actually, that’s a very good place to start.” Claudia was surprised he’d even heard of Dan Brown. Jennifer must be waking up his brain.

  “As we know, I don’t read much. But Jen gave me a copy of Angels and Demons, and I couldn’t put it down because I loved imagining the Vatican getting blown to smithereens. But, when all the talk went around about The DaVinci Code, I considered its main thesis, but didn’t read it.”

  “So,” Claudia broke in, “what do you think about a marriage of Jesus and Mary Magdalene?”

  “To tell you the truth, I always thought they were a couple because she’s always near Jesus with her red flowing hair. It’s right in our faces all over Italy.” It was a thrill to be able to converse this way after feeling so limited intellectually with her in the past.

  “Great start. This might be easier than I thought it would be. So, why do you think the Church hierarchy goes to such extremes to cover up the truth?”

  “Well, if Jesus was married to her, that would be the end of priestly celibacy. The Church wants to keep things the way they are and have sex in secret and live in luxury. It’s easier to keep all the money if priests can’t marry and pass their property to their children.”

  “You are absolutely right,” Claudia responded sipping lightly on the wine. “Yet, the hierarchy’s cover-up is somehow out of proportion, don’t you think?”

  “Well, yes. They are laughing
stocks, but they still are at the center of world banking, so the chuckle is on us. Really, we are fools for putting up with them, especially my family!”

  She said in a sensual, conspiratorial voice, “Well, darling, wait until you hear what they are covering up; it’s all out now. A famous filmmaker, Simcha Jacobovici, teamed up with a highly respected biblical scholar, Barrie Wilson, to publish The Lost Gospel, a book that describes the hidden aspects of the relationship between Jesus and Mary Magdalene. Dogmatic theologians are trying to muffle them, but the public can read and Jacobovici is well known. A truly shocking story is leaking out that explains the fierce cover-up on the personal life of Jesus giving scholars like Sarah real data on early Christianity. Wilson is a highly acclaimed professor of religious studies in Toronto and can’t just be dismissed.

  “The ‘lost gospel’ is an ancient Syriac manuscript in the British Library that is almost two thousand years old. It was not properly translated, so Wilson and Jacobovici hired a team of experts to translate it into English. We’re lucky it collected dust until more advanced tools were available because recent imaging technologies have authenticated the radical and shocking text. If it had been found earlier, it might have been destroyed like many other scrolls were before our modern times.”

  “Okay, but what does it have to do with the bee?”

  “Jennifer is having a salubrious effect on you! You are listening to me and using your brain,” she laughed as she cut off a thick slice of cheese.

  “Now, Claudia, that’s enough of that. Get on with the story!” He was happy his wife wasn’t around because he was really enjoying private time with Claudia. He didn’t realize Matilda had noticed Claudia’s vintage Fiat parked by the side of the coach house.

  “Okay. Mary Magdalene is associated with the queen bee in some early sources, and the bee is a major symbol in Renaissance art, some say to indicate sacred lineages. Even today royalty often have bee fabric and art in their palaces. There is a chair in your library upholstered with red fabric and golden bees. I was very surprised you didn’t realize you’d put a golden bee in your painting because it suggests you have an archetypal memory of the bee connected to Mary Magdalene. It popped out from the depths of your rich subconscious mind and your bloodlines, the reason your art attracts notice. You know things that leak into your work. Ironically, only now is the meaning of this coded symbol coming to light, and I think you executed this painting exactly when The Lost Gospel was being translated!” She broke off a piece of French bread, slathered on some mustard, and put a thin slice of Edam cheese on top.