Mary Magdalene Imagery

ARTICLES & PAINTIGS FOR THE HOLY LADY

Who is Mary Magdalene?

From the Book
The Underground Stream, Esoteric Tarot Revealed
by Bishop Christine Payne-Towler
(Followed by quotes about Mary Magdalene from various Gnostic Gospels)

Legend has it that sometimes she will allow herself to be glimpsed, just a wink of her, moving between the trees at the foot of the cliffs. On particularly bright, moonlit nights, it is said she stands against the scoured rock and lets the southeast winds pound upon her, pinning her in chiseled shilouette. None can name the forces working her at those times.

She fills her eyes, her ears, her skin with the sound, the feel, the wincing saltiness and windiness of the sea, and she is washed over by a wave of Spirit, rising, breaking, and retreating on inner shores, memory shores. Her inner eye ranges across landscapes of time, probing for the "signs" and meaningful coincidences which have shaped her destiny. By what miracle of power did this life unfold so?

In retrospect, her coming-of-age years showed even then that she was unusual. Called to the Work earlier than most, she took her empowerments seriously and received Initiation as fast as her teachers would let her. Her prosperous family had indulged her mystical tendencies, endowing her with a fund from which to support herself as a single woman - an enviable position to be in during such repressively partriarchal times. Even then this wind was blowing inside her, blowing her along to that fateful day when she met The Teacher.

By that time she had cultivated herself to a high degree. She had entered into relations with the spirits of the directions, the elements, the planets, the Sephiroth; her charisma and telesma were finely developed. Yet in the presence of The Teacher she could feel new potentials swelling, inner senses sharpening, a dawning recognition of something new yet very old and familiar. She eagerly entered into training with him, craving his company and thrilled to assist at the Eucharist beside him. Others saw the singificance of her excitement long before she did.

We can go no farther, he had said, until we liberate you from the bondage of your ancestors. There are spirits clinging to you, like mud on a crystal, and you deserve to be cleansed and consecrated for the Work. May I give you this empowerment? So a time was set, and the intention was made, to exorcise her of the sins of her forefathers. In a simple but deep ceremony, she was cleansed of the seven spirits of the Governors, servants of the Demiurge, God of the Lie.

With his hand and his heart he made her new. Lifted from within by the wind of the Spirit, she blew like a kite in the updraft, dancing dizzyingly while held firmly by his heartstrings 'til she came to earth again, touching down into his deep dark eyes. After that, she knew her calling.

Now they were together more often than not. Some of this students complained, mostly the men, but The Teacher teased them, saying, "Ask not why I love her so much, but ask instead why I don't love you more! " She was not too proud to humble herself for him in the manner of a proper Hebrew wife, though she belonged to no man legally. She doted upon him and he upon her, and their love sweetened the space around them and nourished the onlookers, even those who disapproved.
Alone together they rediscovered the sinless joys of Adam and Eve before the fall, when Nature worshipped herself in the dance of opposites. They practiced the yoga of love, treating each other as God and Goddess in the work of creation. Who could fail to notice the bond they had, the at-onement? The souls conceived and born between these two hearts were vastly blessed, and heavily weighted, by the synergy of this union.

All the time the Spirit-wind would blow around her, making harmonics in her head and pointing her like a weathervane towards an unknown destination. Days and nights would unfold, looking much like each other, with their children to feed and clothes to mend, while the Teacher gave discourse to the slowly-growing crowds. Everything looked normal, but her ears would ring from the sound of her heart surging like a tide. Whither this yearning? This dread?

Sometimes she would ask him if he felt it too. He would look very tenderly right into her and say "Feel me right here with you, take me in and let me live in your heart. I will never leave you, not ever". He would put her hands on his face, his chest, his thighs, reminding her to soak up his physicality and assure herself of his here-nowness. He would hold her tight long into the night if she needed it. Most of the time this would comfort her, but she was occasionally struck with a grief and anguish so profound that she could only sob helplessly, totally swept away by it. He seemed to understand it all much better than she did.

Then came the year of the Sacrifice, and events unfolded quickly to reveal the terrible road that lay before her. The Teacher had come to his time of testing. His path was leading towards certain trouble which he would not sidestep. Even she, the mother of his children, had no leverage to dissuade him from his task. Mary had to quickly rediscover her independence, which had relaxed in the safety of her bond with him.

Now she knew what it was she had been unknowingly grieving. No more did she have the blanket of ignorance to cushion her dread. When she looked into her Teacher's eyes, into her lover's eyes, the father of her children's eyes, she saw deep space. There was no bottom, no limit, no ego or self anymore, and she knew that he had to go on without her now, and she without him. Nothing could relieve her loneliness, because even before it was all played out, he was already lost to her.

Yet she stayed on through the ordeal, imprisonment, humiliations. She stood by him at the foot of the cross, at the tomb, serving him in his darkest hour as she had served him at the altar and in their private rituals, A fountain of compassion flowing through her, moved by forces she had to trust and bow to. She knew that she was his earthly anchor as the Light strove with his broken body, and she freely lent her energy to his monumental struggle.

Only after they took him down did she finally return to herself. Heartbroken, she wept bitterly for the evil in the world, that it could so freely manhandle and abuse the Light in him, in her, in us all. Outrage mixed with horror as the images replayed in her mind, and through it all, beating with her own heart, was the crushing pain of knowing that their life together was over, finally and forever. He had made this clear to her before he was taken - no matter the outcome of the ordeal, she would need to go on without him, as any overt association with him would be too dangerous for her and the children. In this long and terrible night, she wrestled with the paradox that her God, the loving and merciful parent, had somehow sanctioned and allowed this ghastly situation.

The morning after the Sacrifice was over, she rose early to visit the tomb. With her she brought the salve he had instructed her to use when he was laid in the gravecloths. She thought to minister to her husband one last time, to smooth his matted hair, say his name, and put her hands upon his face one more time. How she screamed when she saw that he was gone! The gravecloth was empty! Forgetting what he had told her to expect, she thought the worst and started to raise a hue and cry. Someone she assumed was the gardener responded, and she asked what had been done with the body. Only then did she realize she was speaking with the Teacher himself!

It was a miracle to her how he had done it, even though he had been tutoring and testing her for years in those very skills. Her faith became belief right then and there. And how had he managed to camouflage himself so well that even she didn't recognize him? It was anguish not to touch him, not to grab him as of old and hang on for dear life, but he wouldn't let her. He was truly different, she could see that, and perhaps she was a little awed. But the strangest thing was, she could hear his voice in her mind! He was saying "I live, and I will never leave you," and as the words would emerge in her mind, tenderness and trust saturated her heart like a sponge. Without effort, spontaneously, she was healed from the dreadful spiritual labors of the night before. The devil that had besieged and nearly defeated her the night before shrank down to a wraith that evaporated in the presence of the Light.

She calmed herself, and then they could commune. He told her many things he wanted her to tell the other apostles, things he had not mentioned to any if them before. Having so recently traversed the inner planes, he had many things to report. Eventually she wrote those in a Gospel which now only a few have seen. Some of the apostles later became jealous that she was favored in that way, but he had prepared her to receive certain things that the others didn't know yet, and so she forgave them their ignorance.

As they shared, a few things became clear to her. Were they his ideas or hers? She couldn't tell. But as a woman alone, certain decisions had to be made. And somehow, she felt she had the will and the energy to carry on. During the exchange, at the point when she rediscovered her courage and optimism, he charged her with a solemn mission. As first witness to the transubstantiation, first in him and then in herself, he wanted her to serve as the first apostle of the good news. It would be her mission to keep and teach his practices. As his student, his wife, and his peer, she knew she had to accept the charge.

A meeting was called with her brother and sister and their families, and it was decided. A boat was hired and the plans were laid. The wind within Mary combined with the wind from the sea to blow them all to France.

From then on, when the wind would blow, she would hear his voice, and feel his touch upon her skin. When braced against the cliffs, buffeted by the gusts off the ocean, she could feel pressure as if he were leaning on her, laying on her, visiting her again in their special way. She could merge with the wind, merge with him, up on those cliffs. Eventually they named the spot after her, and for centuries she has been celebrated on her holy day, looking out to sea, feeling and tasting and blowing in the wind with her beloved.

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Mary Magdalene. No Rigths Reserved

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