Image: Sue Vincent
My offering for Sue’s Thursday Photo Prompt has taken form due to long meditations on Mary Magdalene. There is no such thing as coincidence, an inner urging had brought me to this point for a reason. I looked at the photo and thought “write it.”
Time has been spent in endless speculation regarding the level of vitriol thrown at the one they called the Magdalene. What motivated her detractors to shred her reputation and worth? Fear? Their insecurities? The need to diminish the power of the Feminine to an image that’s less threatening is quite telling. “Whore” is a label too easily used to demean don’t you think?
The character in this tale is undergoing an experience called the “Dark Night of the “Soul.” It’s something that’s accompanied humanity for a very long time. This state of being has been generous in its favours and spreads them widely amongst all paths, traditions and faiths, or those of no faith.
The Soul (and Ego) at such times may confront difficult truths and the death of the old way of life. They may struggle deeply at the darkest point before the rays of the Sun emerge over the horizon. These experiences also herald a transformation of importance. Each person’s encounter is different.
Many of us have been overshadowed by it, and will continue to throughout life. These are pivotal moments, confronting us with soul shattering despair and bleakness. Of hope being but a distant vision. Abject inertia and past memories may infuse every cell and tear shed. The one suffering may wonder why they’ve been abandoned, why Love and Compassion have hidden themselves.
Unconditional Love and Compassion. So often missing from this world and human interaction. It needn’t be the case.
I wonder if the Magdalene felt this utter shattering of her being at the point of no return, for it has to be remembered she was one of the disciples. Therefore had access to the inner (esoteric) teachings, gnosis would not have been an unfamiliar concept to her. Dear reader, is this idea distasteful to you? I don’t wish to offend, but remind you that Mystics come from many paths and traditions, and seek the One ultimately, seek completion and wholeness.
Now, what of this suffering Mystic who waits, praying for the Dawn to come and Light to appear? Dear reader, I may write these words but the sentiments are gathered from legions of Seekers who have travelled this road.
The shadows wait patiently as they can see I have no avenue of escape. The hand of time moves slowly, agonizingly slowly, until my Soul is ripped apart. How the blood spatters and enshrouds what’s left of my humanity and dignity. My eyes see but not truly see the road ahead. They have all left, the Cup has been veiled and waits on the Light to return. I am bereft, bereft of purpose and meaning. There is an emptiness that waits at my core, it waits to be filled, but neither food not drink appear.
The stars have been torn from their home and languish in the depths of a slate blue sea. I stare into its waters with unseeing eyes. My throat is parched, it seems a conflagration resides there. What will quench its fire? Who will utter the words of release, is it to be me or you? Who will wipe my brow and offer arms of comfort? I ask the questions but only silence answers, it echoes endlessly. Yet, I know the One waits, hears my prayers of anguish.
O Great Sun who gives us life, warms our blood and gives forth food from the Earth,
Free us from the tomb filled with death and decay in the midst of life.
Give us words of comfort and lift us up when our bloodied feet can no longer walk,
When our hearts are weighed down with thoughts of despair and alienation,
Unleash the waters of Life to cleanse and purify.
We seek Love that has abandoned its home, call its name but hear nothing.
We stretch out hand in the darkness, urge the Wayshowers to guide us,
But our eyes cannot see for they are blinded by fear and hopelessness.
My words fall like stones in a pool, ripple outwards, how far will their message travel?
Will the One hear my pleas and gather up my torn and tattered Soul? I wait for the dawn, watch the hand of time move slowly, agonizingly slowly. My ears hear nothing, my voice utters silence and my eyes are sightless.
Then, a voice murmurs from the heart of the darkness veiling the Light, it cries “the Dawn approaches!”
A conflagration arises, sets the world alight. Hail the rising of the Sun! Hail the rebirth of my Soul!
So dear reader, hear ends my little tale, one that begun in symbolic death and achieved rebirth at the coming of Dawn’s fire. Our Mystic lives, regenerates in the Light that comes from the East, in more ways than one. Perhaps you can take away any insights her experience has offered, if it helps…