holds his ground. Sahirah sneers, “Once again the sacred feminine will be inhibited by man,” and steps back just as a frail young woman adorned in rich silks comes through the doorway. The blanket falls away and she screams.
The babe hovers in the air.
As Belshazzar catches the swooning mother, Syrus rushes to tenderly enfold the child in his arms. Snakes and cats trailing her furious wake, Sahirah takes her leave. Settling her slender mother upon some cushions, Belshazzar asks little Martha to keep watch before approaching her father.
“I am Belshazzar, king of Aksum. I am here on Mari-a’s behalf.”
“I knew you would come.” The babe in Syrus’ arms entices a smile. “I had a vision of her birth and was guided to name her… Mary.” The Hellenized form of Mari-a, Belshazzar nods his approval. “I even saw her marriage… to the king of Yisrael. Could it be the anointed one?”
Relieved that Syrus has the sight, Belshazzar explains, “Only the messah queen can bring a man to sovereignty. Mari-a’s birth has been awaited in our lands, just as the birth of the prince of peace was predicted in yours.” His gaze sweeps over the wild animals making themselves at home in the nursery, “When did they arrive?”
Syrus shakes his head in wonderment. “The night Eucharia began to labor. When the babe was born at the break of dawn, the animals’ zest frightened the milk from my wife’s breasts.”
“Mari-a has special gifts. She is connected to the natural world and the creatures revere her.” Belshazzar reassures him, “You have a home in Magdala, the sister city to Migdol. Bring this child up near the healing waters of the Sea of Galilee. When she is older, you can send her to Mount Karmel.”
Vehemently, the priest shakes his head. “No! She will not be exposed to such sorcery.”
“You fear her gifts as well as your own. Syrus, your sight is true; the father of the Davidic prince has had your same vision. I advise that you not hinder her innate abilities.”
“But you do not understand. My people are quite suspicious of anything not of Adonai.”
Belshazzar laughs and the infant gurgles with delight. “She is a gift from the Divine. You shall see.” He hands Syrus a small leather pouch exactly like the other he gave to the newborn prince some three years earlier. “Place this upon her body.” Syrus cringes as a black crow flies through a window, cawing loudly. Belshazzar touches the man’s shoulder. “Have no fear. I shall watch over her.”
“Your magic is stronger than …?”
“My connection to Source is clear. You are the one to guide this child. Make haste and return to Galilee.”
“But my wife has not recovered.”
“I have special herbs that will strengthen her, but you must go now.” Belshazzar relieves Syrus of the child so he might ready his wife and daughter. Once alone with the babe, her dark skin glistens as she speaks silently to him.
Hello, drummer! My friends are here but where is my partner? I wish to dance.
The ebony king’s laughter fills the nursery, causing the monkeys to chatter excitedly over the screeching birds. Belshazzar silently reassures her. Mari-a, I will keep the beat until you are ready to join your partner. You shall return to your home and so must all your animal companions. Please release them to be with their families.
The newborn haze of her light eyes clears to a brilliant green as a wave of energy leads the creatures out of the palace. Against the surge of gazelles, a petite but curvaceous woman enters the nursery, her dark skin setting off unusually light eyes.
“Isn’t she dear?”
“Eshe, why have you come?”
“On behalf of my brother, who sent a fine wet nurse. The mother will not put her own child to her breast.” She reaches for the baby, but Belshazzar holds her close. “I can love this child as one of my own.”
“Time will tell why Mari-a is born into this family. Soon another child will need you. Yeshua is coming with his parents from Galilee. His father has concerns about the boy’s purpose. Fortunately, the mother is well-connected to the Great Spirit. Have Osaze make arrangements for you to stay in Alexandria at the house of Arimathaea.” The woman kisses the baby’s forehead, whispering her love and devotion to Mari-a.
With his keen sight, Belshazzar notices that a tiny curl has been shorn from the crown of the babe’s head. “Please keep watch over Sahirah. You know how to contact me.”
Eyes shadowed by concern, Eshe nods her consent. Beautiful little Mari-a gurgles joyfully, the protective pouch lying at her heart. Belshazzar prays that the elestial quartz’s smoky interior might absorb the darkness from her life.
Who Am I?
Galilee, 3771
Do you know who you are as part of the One?
Do you know all the Me’s that make up I AM?
Who shall you be once in Sacred Unity?
Be true to your self in Harmony with Love.
I am Mary
Sauntering down the road to Nazareth, I quicken as I pass unescorted by the women at the village well. Dust sullying my fine embroidered robe, I only stop to knock the gravel from my sandals. Great timbers from the forests of Syria peek through worn clay walls as a cool breeze lifts faded courtyard canopies. On the western outskirts of the village, I enter the house of Joseph.
Once through the low doorway, children’s laughter greets me. More alive than any of my family’s grand homes, the humble cottage permeates with a wealth of love. My skin tingles—he is here.
“Yeshua, I want you to have this.”
Startled brown eyes absorb me before liquefying into a warm smile. He takes the small rose quartz, fingers lingering a fraction longer than necessary. Quivering, I search for my innate strength to hold his intense gaze. His younger brothers and sisters interrupt their play to watch our exchange.
“Yeshua, mind your manners! We are not espoused.”
Rude as rowdy donkeys, boys jostle into the courtyard. I am nearly knocked off the landing before Yeshua catches my arm.
“Why is she here?” the gangly son of the village potter whines.
“She possesses what we do not. We need her sacred feminine power to sanctify Mount Tabor.”
“Who is she anyhow?” Yeshua’s entourage grumbles amongst themselves, clearly uncomfortable with my presence. Still I hesitate to reveal myself until he gives me a nudge.
“I am…Mary.” They are unimpressed so I add, “Daughter of Syrus, the magistrate.” The boys quiet their protests.
Yeshua leads us through the street, ignoring the farmer who tries to sell the last of his produce to busy wives. Stomachs growl in unison but Yeshua hastens the pace, carefully avoiding sewage coursing through drainage systems. Laughing
