Teoma turns me away from him. “Go dance for your beloved.” With a sob, I run from the cover of the pepper tree, his prophetic words throbbing in my ears.
East of the fountain, the men dance, the women on the other side. Looking for Yeshua, I circle the dancers in time to the music, a surge of spiraling hayye drawing me into the center of the courtyard. Dancing with the energies faster and faster, my body light, my head spinning, the crowd of onlookers becomes blurred. Finally the face I search for comes clear. I dance around my betrothed yet there is no escaping my unresolved feelings. Yeshua speaks my name, but does not move with the music. His voice seems so very far away, his face fades, the music stops.
I am being carried, my head hanging back over someone’s arm. When I open my eyes, the world spins so fast, my stomach lurches in response. I groan. “She stirs.” Miriam speaks but it is not she who carries me.
“Ima, please let me take her to my chambers.” It is Yeshua who bears my weight.
“No, son, it is enough. She needs to rest now from the excitement and from you.”
Yeshua tightens his grip, then stops so abruptly that my dizzy head might fall onto the floor. “Ima, please. I will take better care of her.” I try again to open my eyes and my stomach threatens to empty itself upon us all.
“Yeshua, I have never seen you like this, not being considerate of another. Mary will be your wife, but she doesn’t belong to you.” Miriam’s tone is severe. “She should be in the chamam with women who can tend to her needs, not entertaining you. In twelve days you will be wed, if she does not become too ill to participate in the ceremony.”
Finally, he acquiesces and lays me gently on his sisters’ bed. I whisper his name. Gathering me into his arms, he does not let go when Miriam returns with wet cloths. “Yeshua, it is time for you to say goodbye to our guests.”
With a gentle kiss on my forehead, he leaves me wanting, still not knowing the truth in my heart.
Dod Joseph,
I pray you have found comfort for I know that it has been difficult since Doda passed away. I wish not to burden you, but I suffer. My beloved is to be wed to my best friend and brother. This is our destiny and I hope to find salvation in serving Yeshua and protecting what is his.
If only my love for Mary was not reflected in her heart, perhaps I could find a wife of my own. Yeshua’s parents explained the importance of my participation in their sacred union, but I must gather all of my courage to be present with grace.
Pray for me, Dod. Please let me return with you after the wedding until the passion cools to a more bearable flame. I am in your debt.
In trust and honor, your nephew,
Teoma
The women have taken over the chamam, the perfume of essential oils and fresh cut flowers saturating my senses. All morning they have bathed me, massaged my body, even using honeyed strips of linen to pull the hair from my limbs. Miriam approaches with a cup of steaming tea. In spite of her insistence that Yeshua and I be separated until our wedding day, I cannot help but return her smile.
“Now drink this, Mary. It will help you heal.”
A familiar sweet fragrance is sharpened by a foreign odor. “Ima, I recognize anise, but what else is in it?”
“Ginseng from the east and chaste berry from the north. You will learn this and more from the Essene healers. It will strengthen your womb so that your first conception may not be lost.” She leaves me to rest only after I finish the tea.
Although I trust her, the idea of enhancing my fertility reminds me of my vows to choose my own destiny. I drift into sleep.
A glorious light enters my dream world—the Archangel Gavriel, my secret friend since childhood. I am taught that since the beginning, women have been able to choose fertility but relinquished their power to men long ago, suffering ever since from the pain of bearing too many unwanted children.
How might I control my fertility without forsaking the pleasures of my marriage bed? The angel smiles and leads me directly into my body. Narrow at the entrance, my womb widens into a large cavern filled with rich blood for the nourishment of a child. At the end are two identical openings and through one narrow tunnel lined by feathers I am encouraged onward. The end widens into a flower, which hangs over a tiny pale pomegranate filled to popping with many, many eggs. Some are ripening and others are dormant —the essence of my future children.
Finally I am shown how, through intention and desire, I may cast a protective white light around my organs sealing them from my husband’s seed. When I desire a child, all I must do is release the protective energy and invite my child’s hayye into my gan eden.
I awaken to express my gratitude for the angelic guidance, the tiny stone in the pouch at my neck heavy and warm.
Becoming As One
Over the ridge of Nazareth, spring dawns gray and misty. Although light will not penetrate the shaded courtyard window of his chambers until much later, Yeshua slips free of the warm linens to sit cross-legged upon the floor. Hands meet at his heart to give thanks, but unaccustomed to arising so early, Yeshua yawns. Whenever he closes his eyes, a sea-green gaze beckons. He resists the temptation to view through the ethers. Not until under the chupa may he look upon the face of his bride.
Excitement fills the chambers when Jacob arrives announcing, “Saada has baked massah so dress quickly before you go to the mikvah!” Fennel cake crumbs dust the corners of his young brothers’ mouths.
“I cannot break my fast until the wedding feast this afternoon.”
“Where in the Torah…?”
“It is tradition. But take Shimon and Judah to finish their meal, and then you may help me prepare for the ritual bath.”
The children hurry noisily out, waking Teoma. Donning a robe, Yeshua enters his friend’s chambers. Teoma yawns and stretches. “You’re up early. Did Jacob interrupt your meditation?” He nods, smiling. “Well, I am grateful not to have to listen to your snoring anymore.”
“I shall miss you.”
Teoma rises and gives him a rough hug. “Before you go to the mikvah, you are wanted in the garden.” Yeshua does not move until his friend pushes him away with a gruff, “Just take good care of her.”
In the olive grove, Yeshua removes the pouch from around his neck and hands it to Belshazzar. The mystic nods his approval, “You have outgrown the need for my protection.”
Twelve years ago, Zsao traveled from the far Himal range to teach Yeshua the ways of the Awakened One. Smiling, his almond-shaped eyes become mere slits. “Today you journey farther into manhood, but do not lose the joyful innocence of childhood as you live each day in Oneness.”
Reiti sits in an impossible pose. The thin brown teacher from the Hindus replaced Zsao as his teacher
