without toppling us over.
He yawns and stretches, “I was dreaming that I was holding our daughter, sleeping in the hammock together, she and I.”
“You were, but now I need to get up and go to the betshimush.”
My stomach has felt unsettled all day so I am not surprised that my bowels are loose, but the fresh dark blood brings a wave of concern. Immediately, the angel’s presence, like a warm breeze, reassures that all will be well.
Into the night I labor, but to no avail. Finally, Yeshua requests his father’s assistance. Having trained with the Essenes, Joseph carefully examines me. “This child must be born shortly; Mary is losing blood.”
Yeshua looks concerned, but the faces of the women express the gravity of the situation. An incredibly wrenching contraction forces me to sit up, panting and gripping Yeshua’s arms. Something tears inside and I scream. His face blanches as a gush of hot blood is released from my womb. Remembering the angel’s advice, I try to breathe.
Another ripping contraction ensues, longer and more powerful than the last. Soaked in my own blood, I am lightheaded, too weak to hold onto the birthing rails. So Leah supports me with her body as Yeshua receives clean linens from his distressed mother into trembling hands.“Can you feel the baby’s head?” Yeshua nods. “Good, now begin rimming the opening with oil gently but firmly stretching around her crown.” Faces go in and out of focus. Another contraction and I am asked to push. Taking a deep breath, I bear down but Yeshua shakes his head, his eyes worried. Leah whispers, “I know you’re tired, but you must push much harder.”
Unable to catch my breath, I nod, the room spins. Nausea overwhelms me and I begin to wretch. Leah cleans me up quickly so I can push again. Determined to get her out I push so hard my eyes might burst, but she doesn’t come. How can this be? She’s a month early. I reach down and feel the top of her curly head crowning. The angel assured me that the baby would be fine, but how much longer can she stay in my birth canal?
Joseph gathers the women to pray for guidance. Unfortunately, my labor does not wait and a huge contraction pushes the baby so forcefully against the opening that it begins to tear. With the next contraction, a river of blood carries my daughter into her father’s arms. Ashen, Yeshua holds aloft our gray infant still attached to me by a long, bluish white cord. With each heartbeat, a fresh gush of my life force escapes. Archangel Gavriel offers silent guidance, but I am swiftly fading.
Unable to speak, I hold two images—one of Yeshua breathing for our daughter, the other of Leah kneading my womb. All is surreal, except the blood, which flows to the beat of my weakening heart. Before the darkness of incomprehension overcomes me, I hear a distant drumming herald in my daughter’s cry.
To Heal Self
Swollen by winter rains, the Nile runs thick alongside the Aksum king, the rays of the sun yielding to his ebony skin. His tribe keeps the divine rhythm—drummers for the dance of humanity. A spiritual guardian, Belshazzar sacrificed his place in the peripheral circle of benevolent drummers to step into the dance.
Just before the last new moon, the messeh queen gave birth to a daughter. Belshazzar’s tribe celebrated joyously. The sacred lineage will go on!
The dark Egyptian princess has come alone to meet him just south of Cairo. He embraces her warmly, “I have most joyous news, my friend. The divine dancers have birthed a daughter!”
Her unusually light eyes glow with delight as he lays the small pouch carrying the twin halves of elestial quartz in her hand.
“I shall keep these safe until the triad is complete.”
He nods and bids Eshe farewell. Covering her head with a turban, she mounts the waiting camel.Watching her ride north, Belshazzar reminisces about delivering the first elestial quartz to the husband of the messeh queen nineteen years ago.
The mountain called Tabor stood as lone guard to Nazareth ridge. To leave his beloved wife and his young son when the star first appeared three months ago was a great sacrifice, but the others waited.
“Hail, Belshazzar!” Aretas traveled with heavy guard. A caravan of eight camels and twice as many mounted men accompanied the Nabataean king.
“My friend, perhaps we should enter the village quietly.”
Hor, the young king of Tarsus, laughed heartily, “Yes. We are to pay homage to the prince of peace!”
“You did not have to pay tribute to Herod before entering Samaria!”
Concerned that the aged Nabataean alerted Herod, Belshazzar inquired, “Aretas, what happened in the palace?”
“After accepting four of my finest stallions without a word of gratitude, the mad Idumean dismissed me. My search for the child had been futile, so I took the opportunity to consult with the royal astronomers. They became quite agitated at my questioning. It took a Judaean shepherd to inform me that the child I seek resides in Nazareth.”
Under what duress did the shepherd reveal such information? What did Herod know about the babe?
“Come, Aretas, one camel is all that is necessary to bear your weight!” Young Hor turned his restless steed north and rode into the village.
Listening for the rhythm of the divine dancer, Belshazzar led them to the far western edge of Nazareth. Although the streets were quiet that early evening, the villagers would talk upon seeing such richly adorned visitors enter the humble cottage. A young man of regal bearing stepped forth to greet them.
“I am Joseph bar Hillel. What honor brings such renowned guests to my home?” In deference he addressed the elder Aretas.
“We have come to pay homage to the child born into the house of David.”
“My wife has borne me a son. How do you know of this? You are not Hebrew.”
Hor laughed, “The child shall bring peace to the world, not only the tribes of Yisrael.”
Gently, Belshazzar took the young father’s arm. “Prince of Judah, our seers have foretold of the birth of your precious son. We ask that you accept our tribute.”
Blue eyes darkened with suspicion until Belshazzar pierced the veil of the Joseph’s mind to silently console him. After depositing their weapons at the door, they were escorted through protective mists which Belshazzar recognized as the hand of a renowned Druid master. They were taken into an inner sanctum adorned by a round altar set upon the intersecting triangles of the sacred masculine and feminine.
Joseph returned with his wife. Hor’s eyes appreciated the beauty of the fair-haired girl but it was the dance of light around Miriam that caught Belshazzar’s attention. Within her arms lay a babe. A wave of peace flowed from the child and the three kings bowed, heads touching the ground.
“Beloved Mother, I am Belshazzar, king of Aksum. It has been foretold in our lands that a prince will be born who will bring peace. We have followed the star to pay our respects to your son. This is Aretas, King of Nabataea.” The couple nodded to the gray bearded one before turning to the youngest man. “And King Hor of Tarsus. May we present gifts to your son?”
When Miriam gave her consent, he placed a carved box on the altar. The child cooed with delight.
