Search

kafkaestblog

It is a whirlwind in here

Category

religion

When A Lighted Cross Saw Me Through The Night

41r6etelb8l

It has been my odd experience to have twice lived across the street from a huge, lighted Cross.
The first appeared to be the height of three men standing on each others shoulders. It was across a wide field and a road, from where I used to house-sit a number of occasions over the years..It was in the yard of a private dwelling, and was (so I was told) a memorial to a relative who had died in a mine disaster.

When the sun went down, it came on. Whether someone in the house turned it on, or light sensors on the edifice gauged the amount of darkness, I do not know. The street was a dead end street, so there was not a lot of traffic. However, if I so chose, I could get the full benefit of it. It shone brightly for hours onto the front of the house. And into the house if one was in one of the front rooms or bedrooms. It had a blue hue, and an unrelenting vibrancy that made one eventually think of neon. I didn’t so much think of spirituality or practicality, but did wonder at the waste.of money and resources for – let’s be honest – so little effect. I also (somewhat uncharitably) assumed that the cross did not shine forth from both sides, and the folk in the house behind it were not affected.

Then, years later, I found myself in another house, across another street, from a giant cross left alight all night. This cross did not shine directly into the house, but slanted more along the street, and not across it. It is affixed by mighty metal stanchions and stays atop a huge Evangelical church. When darkness comes, its emblazoned light can be seen across a whole city and, by my reckoning, into the hills beyond. I am not certain, but I also imagine it can be seen by ships at sea.

But, both crosses bestow upon me the light of the Lord, and I’ll happily take whatever blessings might be granted.

Shine on me.

(image) https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41r6ETelb8L.jpg

Witch Hunt

rebecca_nurse_salem_witch_trials_by-freeland-a-carter-artist-public-domain-via-wikimedia-commons_promo

 

The witch hunt is on:
 
Not for
 
But by
 
The witches.
 
I know of what I speak
Being
A descendant
Of a witch
– Mary Eastey –
(also spelled Esty, Easty, Estey)
 
Executed
(hanged, not burned)
By the good
& pious folk
(Christians all)
Of
Salem, Mass.
 
[I put in “Mass” so
those life-hating Puritan folk
Gnash their teeth
And burn,
A little brighter
In Hell.]
 
{And I add
… ’cause it tickles my
Fancy…
That 19 years later
Mary’s husband
received £20
of compensation.}
 
Praise The Lord
 
The witches
(ready, aye, ready)
Now seek their
justified
retribution
against those with
the stench
of self-serving
Morality
upon
their breath.
 
BEWARE!
[Image} https//:www.biography.com/.image/t_share/MTUwMTQyNDY2ODExNTA0MTg4/rebecca_nurse_salem_witch_trials_by-freeland-a-carter-artist-public-domain-via-wikimedia-commons_promo.jpg

 

Heading To Hell In A Handcart – New Bible Required

0814micah-prophet0010

Since I was once asked to re-write part of The Bible (see following blog) and – you know – I wrote the book – The Elephant Talks To God – I have decided to write a Book of the Bible. It will be the Second Book of Micah. I have always favoured myself as a minor prophet.

My credentials:

Some time ago I had an odd request – a very odd request, come to think of it – to re-write a portion of the New Testament. It is Luke 7 36-50, where Jesus is Anointed by a Sinful Woman. I was asked to write it from the woman’s point of view.

I met the man who made the commission at a Starbucks (his suggestion). He is a successful business man and owns and runs a professional corporation. He gave me the verses he wanted done and asked if I thought I would be able to do so. I said yes. I have the ability and the project intrigued me.  It would hold my interest.

He was not garrulous or forthcoming, and I refrained from asking him why he wanted this done. However, I did query the direction he might want the story to take. he was vague about that, also. A woman’s point of view. A woman of the times. I felt I pressed that issue strongly enough, even if I did not get an answer.

We discussed price. I told him what I thought such a project was worth. I explained it as an issue of time expended (even I wasn’t sure how much effort it would be). He agreed to an hourly price.

The end result was that he did not pay me. he disliked the finished story. I include the work and our email exchange at the end of the adventure. I wish he would have been as detailed in telling me what he wanted before the fact, instead of after.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Luke 7: 36-50

Jesus Anointed by a Sinful Woman
36 Now one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, so he went to the Pharisee’s house and reclined at the table.
37 When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume,
38 and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.
39 When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner.”
40 Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.”
“Tell me, teacher,” he said.
 41 “Two men owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii,[d] and the other fifty. 42Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he canceled the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?”
 43 Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt canceled.”
“You have judged correctly,” Jesus said.
 44 Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair.
45 You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet.
46 You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet.
47 Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little.”
 48 Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”
 49 The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?”
50 Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”
I would like to see this story told form the sinner lady point of view.
****************************************
What I did.
The woman was a sinner. Everyone in the village knew this and everyone treated her accordingly. She would sleep with men for money, and thus was shunned. Except by those men who used her and paid her. But when they were done with her, they shunned her, too. Men are like that, selfish and deceitful. She has earned her money. They have earned her contempt.
The woman had reasons for being a sinner. Her parents were old when she was born and she was a chore to them. Not only a chore perhaps, but their affection was watered down. Their interest in her was always coloured with annoyance. She did not do what they wanted. She did not think as they thought. She had desires which had left them years before, so they did not think them important. And she was a girl – good only as bait for a man to marry. She was a burden.
However, she had a life to live. Her parents said she should thank them for her life. She said that instead she would blame them. She would look after herself if that was the way it had to be. She would use the tools that God gave her, just like a carpenter uses his tools to build. If there is no help from her parents; if her village looks down on her; if a man won’t marry her; well, she’ll set out on her own.
And she did.
It was not difficult to become a success at what she did. When with a man all she had to do was move her body and tell them lies. Praise them. Make those sounds they want to hear. Make then happy and she had a repeat customer. Keep the foolish secrets they seemed to insist telling her to herself. They trusted her as they used her. She used their stories for her own good. Learned where to purchase the best goods. Learned who to avoid. Make a bit of money on speculation. Even the cheapest grave digger when the time came for each of her parents. Be able to keep her parents house and even put some money away. What was a reputation compared to this?
It was from her clients that she first heard of Jesus. Yet another desert prophet full of crazy talk. The rabble seemed to love him. The Pharisees warned against him. He talked as if his words were the words of God. He seemed to give strange interpretations of the stories in the Bible. He seemed to think that more than just the rich were important. The men she was with laughed at that, but it was nervous laughter. There was something about this Jesus which troubled them, but also interested them. It was not usual that her client’s talk included references to God.
It was also from one of her clients – a Pharisee who liked to brag – that she learned Jesus was going to visit her village. The Pharisees were not happy with Jesus. They did not like what he was preaching. People are not equal. People need their leaders. Give people such ideas and they will be harder to control. So one of the Pharisees was going to invite Jesus to dine at his home.
The sinful woman decided she would attend the dinner. It was enough of a public event that she doubted she would be turned away. She wanted to hear what this Jesus had to say. See what he looked like. She knew about men and she was certain she could tell if he was to be trusted. And, men being men, she would bring him a gift. Nothing suggestive, just a jar of perfume to sooth him after his journey. She would present it to him if what she was hearing about him turned out to be true.
When she arrived at the house, and heard what Jesus had to say, she understood why the rich and powerful feared him. She knew the truth when men spoke it, because she heard it little enough. Jesus offered her comfort and asked for no favours in return.
She approached Jesus and kneeled at his feet, weeping. She was so affected by his compassion that her tears caused streaks through the dust on his feet. She wiped away at the tears with her hair, sobbing all the while. She then began to pour the perfume on his feet, rubbing the scented oils into his skin to relieve the ache of his walking.
Although the woman did not look up, she heard the condemnation coming from the Pharisee. She cowered lower beside Jesus’ feet and was prepared to be mocked and told to know her place. Forced from the house. Instead, Jesus remained seated and told a story. He asked who would love a moneylender more, one who had a huge debt cancelled, or one who had a small debt cancelled? The Pharisee replied that the one with the larger debt would have more love. Jesus agreed.
Then Jesus looked at the woman and smiled. He spoke to the Pharisee, and took the time to detail the actions of the woman since he arrived. He compared what the woman had done to the neglect of his host. She had paid attention to him, kissed his feet again and again, soothed him with perfumed oil after his walk, took the time to make him comfortable. The Pharisee had done nothing to put him at his ease. So if the woman was a sinner, then she deserved to have all of her sins forgiven, for she had done much for him. Her love was the greater, for she had overcome the greater sins, whereas the Pharisee, regardless of his fewer sins, had done nothing.
Jesus then forgave the sins of the woman, and told her to go in peace. And although this outraged the Pharisee and his guests, and made them question the authority of Jesus, the woman left the house cleansed.

*************************************************

Email Exchange Re: Bible Story

Inbox

x

Dale Estey

7 Mar (3 days ago)

Hi, *****:
Let me know what you think of the story.
Dale

Did you receive the Bible story?

I’m starting to wonder if I have the correct email address, though nothing is bumped back. Did you receive the story? I am wondering what your reaction is.

I’ll try this address and hope to get a response

Hi Mr. Dale,
I expected the story to shed the light on the values and habits of Jewish community at the time of Jesus. I would elaborate on the social rejection to the sinners who does not conform with the social rules. I would not picture her as a community defiant person. I would highlight her struggle with her temptations & her religious and community values. I would illustrate how the teachings of jesus to invite the sinners to repent made a difference to her. I would imply how her humplness made the difference between her and Simon.
I do not think that the story delivered the massage that we discussed.
[IMAGE] Https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nAShHmzx6BQ/WG5eCDa9_jI/AAAAAAAAJd4/b9keTeXrw5U1tMZZhKW9yQWdzA7HCl8dQCLcB/w1200-h630-p-k-no-nu/0814micah-prophet0010.jpg

Gimme That Old Time Religion & Eschew Born Again Christians

facebook-give-me-that-old-time-religion-5d295f

So it has come to this.

A mindless voice with mindless tune singing softly in the dark.

My friend, I promise you,  on such a night even the sages are locked babbling in their rooms.

You think me mad?

“Well, my boyze.” (I talk in my best W.C. Fields voice).

“Well, my boyze. I had a hen who could lay a Golden Calf. And this weird guy – Moses was his name – yass. This Mo-zaz threw these stone tablets – threw, I say – these stone tablets on my hen, and killed her.

Feathers everywhere.

And I asked him – I said to him – hey, Mo-zaz, why did you flatten my hen and make the feathers fly?

And he said to me – can you believe this – he said to me:

‘W. C., I was damn hungry.’

And I knew –  my little chickadee, my little bottom-soft dumpling –   I knew from that moment, that the man was not sincere.”

[mage]  https://pics.me.me/Facebook-Give-me-that-old-time-religion-5d295f.png

History, Poetry And Religion In A Cathedral For Evensong

original-5584
[Bishop John Medley (John Fredericton)]
Yesterday a writing colleague, Robert Hawkes, launched his poetry book about a Nineteenth Century Anglican Bishop, John Medley. An intriguing aspect of the launch was that it occurred during an Evensong service, in the very cathedral  where Medley had been bishop.

I am so sorry to have missed the event, not just for the book launch, but because it was a part of Evensong.  My interest in this service is explained in the following blog, that I posted last year, around the time of Remembrance Day.

~~~~~~~~~~
An evening church service is a favourite of mine – even as a child. However, it has fallen out of favour and is no longer regularly offered.

Trusty Google helped me find one last Sunday. Not only an Evensong, but a Choral Evensong. And not only choral, but it was dedicated as a Remembrance Evensong. I was coming in, out of the cold, in style.

It was held in St. George’s Church – also know as the Round Church for its shape. www.roundchurch.ca

I had been in the church as a tourist, but not for years. A 5pm service in November got me there at dusk. It is a large church, complete with upper balconies. It is close in proximity to the Halifax naval yard, and I wondered if there would be some military presence. As it was, an officer in uniform read a lesson, while a military chaplain gave the sermon.

Not having been to an Evensong for decades, I don’t know if it was a large or small congregation. My guess is there were thirty or so people present, plus 10 in the choir, plus 2 ministers, 1 verger and the organist/choir director.

I would say that Evensong is a modified Morning service, perhaps more fitting for the time of day. In addition to a choral choir singing selections on their own, there were hymns that are favourites of mine. “Oh God, Our Help In Ages Past”  “Abide With Me” and three (3) stanzas of “God Save The Queen”. How close to heaven can one monarchist get?

As an added surprise (which would have made my father ecstatic) it was a High Church Anglican church, and even had incense. Perhaps that explained the choral choir.

At the end, after the procession had left, the large and booming organ belted out a selection by César Franck – Pièce Héroïque“. Members of the choir returned and sat in pews to listen.

When it was completed and people started to leave, I had a tiny ageist and sexist lapse. Two little, white-haired ladies got out of their pew to leave. Walking slowly before me, they talked of the music. I thought they were going to complain about the (admittedly) lengthy organ recital.

“Oh, that music,” said one.

“Yes,” said the other, nodding.

“It’s one of my favourite pieces.”

“I know what you mean.”

Halloween Through The Druids And The Celts And The Dead

ahalloweencrone

They have learned every celebration has its risks. The Druids have taught them this, and the Druids are correct.

Samhain is a festival of the harvest; the end of summer; the preparation for the winter to come. Samhain is a juncture. As they all know, junctures lead to sundry places. There is both the leaving and the coming. A time of disquiet. A time of danger to those unprepared.

It holds the magic and the power of midnight. Midnight is a powerful time because it is the juncture of two days. Midnight of Samhain thus holds double the power. It can not be avoided. It must be met with all the power that mortal man can muster. It must not be met alone.On the Eve of Samhain, the border between Life and the Otherworld is breached. A door swings invitingly open, but it is not inviting to those who live. It is inviting to those who have died.

The Dead who still miss their lives. The long Dead who still are curious.The distant Dead who get a whiff of fresh air and have their memories stirred. So the Dead approach.The Dead approach. The living must prepare to meet them, just as they prepare for the vicissitudes of winter. The same threatened cold holds sway over both.

The living assemble the treats and threats that will assuage the longings of the Dead. Because the living have a healthy fear of death, they equally wish to avoid the Dead. The Dead can prove to be envious and attempt to relieve the living of their lives.Lanterns from the earth are hollowed out of turnips. Their light will guide the dead to safer places (safer for the living). Candles will shine through carved faces. Some faces are friendly and welcoming; some are ugly and fierce to give aggressive Dead a pause.

There will also be treats to entice the Dead – apples and pastries and savouries and some roasted game fresh from the bonfires. There will be ale and other spirits to keep the Spirits at bay.The living will wear costumes and masks to disguise themselves from those Dead who might wish their company to be more permanent.

They will remove the masks if the Spirits are friendly.

They will dance and sing and raise a right ruckus to entertain the Dead.The boneyard is on the outskirts of town. The revellers approach with noise and caution. The bonfire is set. The moon hangs from the trees. The gated fence stands closed and latched. The living pause and watch. And listen. Is it the wind, or do the hinges scrape the stone?

(image)2.bp,blogspot.com/_fdou0Xa3IfY/TMXLi165MpI/AAAAAAAAGho/LmGe-b98pKs/s1600/a+halloween+crone.jpg

My Father And The Summer Solstice

telemmglpict000132550612-large_trans_nvbqzqnjv4bqek9vkm18v_rkiph9w2gmnogxyspv9m1jbe0fc3bi1fk

Not that I post this every first day of summer, but I do find it neat to have such a connection to the Celts, about whom I have written three novels.

During World War Two, my father had the unique experience of guarding Stonehenge. Not by himself, of course, there were other members of the Canadian Army with him.
The vast plains around Stonehenge were utilised by the military in both world wars. During the First War, the area was a training ground for troops from various countries. There were many encampments for recruits, with both basic training and preparations to train for the trench warfare awaiting on the continent. There were thousands and thousands of men, and huge amounts of supplies.
During the Second War, the area was used as staging ground for the D-Day invasion. There was great security, and as much secrecy as possible. Soldiers were in place to guard the perimeter.
So, my father found himself not only guarding Stonehenge, but doing so on Midsummer Morn, when the sun rose over the monument. He was a learned man – a school teacher – and versed in the history of the place. He knew of the Celts and the Druids and some of the mythology. He knew this was sacred ground and that Midsummer Morn was especially important. He might have paused and tried to look into the past, and see more in the morning mist than was actually there. I do not know.
He did, however, when their watch was over and they got to eat, tell the other soldiers of the history of the place. He mentioned that, during such celebrations by the Celts, the Druids might have a virgin killed to appease the gods. They were aghast.
“What a waste,” said one.

DE

(image)http://www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/news/2017/06/21/TELEMMGLPICT000132550612-large_trans_NvBQzQNjv4Bqek9vKm18v_rkIPH9w2GMNoGXySPv9M1Jbe0Fc3Bi1Fk.jpeg

Unicorns Convince Christ To Sacrifice Himself

The first book in my Unicorn trilogy, entitled A LOST GOSPEL, centres around Christ’s death.
In the novel, unicorns were present to see Him born, and now must be present to see Him die. Glarus, the keeper of the unicorns, was also on hand for both events. In this excerpt, she assures Yeshua it is indeed the right time to make His sacrifice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3363260044_7ec0617f87

The Stuttgart Psalter, an illuminated Carolingian manuscript
Place of origin: Saint-Germain-des-Prés
Date of manuscript : around 830 CE

A LOST GOSPEL

“I know your voice.”

“You may give yourself.” Glarus stepped closer.

“My Father takes this cup from me tonight?”‘

“Yes.”

“They won’t kill me in this place?” Yeshua glanced around the olive grove.

“I have but followed the unicorns.” Glarus touched them. “They have lead me here to take away your doubt.”

“We’ve met before.”

“A baby in a stable.” Glarus smiled at him. “You have become more than memory.”

“Do you still have spice upon your cloak?” Yeshua turned from her. “Behold. These men and their hatred approach.” He put a hand on each of the ivory shafts. “You must be gone.” Yeshua stepped aside. “Call them.” He smiled. “They are yours again.”

“Haah!”

The unicorns pawed at the ground near Yeshua, then went toward Glarus.

“More than memory.” She looked at him closely. “And more than just a man.”

Glarus put a hand on each unicorn‘s back, and together they returned the way they had come.

DE

The Birth Of Jesus With Unicorn – A Christmas Tale

In my novel, A Lost Gospel, a Unicorn is present at the birth of Jesus – something, as far as I know, not disputed by religious scholars. Glarus, the Celtic priestess who accompanied the Unicorn, describes this event to Bettine and Sirona, themselves young women attending unicorns. Glarus was asked to be present at the birth by The Magi.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Excerpt from A Lost Gospel

article-1093889-02c68847000005dc-361_468x332

“The kings had some information, but the rest they had to figure out. They had

surrounded themselves with astrologers, navigators and philosophers. They knew

from the Jew’s Holy Book that the baby was to be born in Bet Lehem, and the Star

helped lead them to that town. We didn’t need the Star the last couple of days, but

it had given us comfort during a hard and uncomfortable trip. That last night we

waited on the outskirts of the town, and went in after sunset.”

“Were you afraid?” Sirona leaned closer.

“No. Why would I be?”

“You were going to see god.” Bettine glanced at Sirona as she spoke.

“To see god is a joy – not a fear.”

“And was he a baby?” Sirona giggled. “A baby god.”

“It was a time for the paying of taxes to Caesar, and Bet Lehem was crowded with people.” Glarus examined the fire for a moment. “The inns and resting places were fully occupied. We finally found Yeshua and his parents in a barn, beside one of the inns. He was settled with the animals, and sleeping in the hay.”

“But this was a god.”

“Yes.”

“But – ” Bettine sounded perplexed. “He should have been in a temple – or a palace. Not surrounded by animals.”

“There are more barns than palaces.” Glarus nudged the wood in the fire with a poker. “And more animals than priests. God is god of the world – not some carved gold in a temple.”

“But god can have whatever he wants.”

“Yes.” Glarus leaned forward and touched the young woman. “So remember what he chose.”

“What was god like?” Sirona was impatient, and pulled on Glarus’ skirt.

“God was the baby of a woman. A baby such as any of us could have.” Glarus looked at them closely. “You must not forget that. This god is as much man as god.” She stood suddenly and leaned toward the fireplace. “He was asleep when we entered. Even his mother was dozing as she held him.”

“What was she like?” Sirona didn’t realize one question interrupted another.

“Her name was Mary.” Glarus removed the pot from the open flame, and placed it upon a squat stone jutting into the hearth. “She smiled as her head nodded – she seemed quite peaceful. She was attractive, but not what one would call beautiful. She didn’t look much older than me.” Glarus looked mildly surprised. “She could still be alive, for that matter. She certainly seemed healthy enough.”

“Did she talk to you?” Sirona leaned forward, the heat of the fire against her face.

“She spoke to the ones who knew her tongue.” Glarus looked down at the women. “But no – not to me.” She suddenly smiled. “I saw her glancing at me a few times, as her husband talked to the others. And she took a liking to the unicorn – as did the baby.”

“Did she – ”

“What I felt most was her bewilderment.” Glarus didn’t realize she had interrupted Bettine. “She must have wondered why rich and powerful people were crowding into a barn to see her son. Giving birth for the first time was enough to get used to.”

The women were silent for awhile. Glarus stirred the pot, and tasted the liquid in the ladle. Bettine looked curiously around the house, while Sirona stared thoughtfully at her mother. She was hearing things she had never heard before.

“When did the baby wake up?” Bettine’s question broke into the silence.

“We hadn’t been there long.” Glarus began moving about the room, gathering some mugs together, along with food and utensils. “I think I was the first to notice. I just followed the lead of the unicorn, which already was walking toward him.”

“Did he touch the unicorn?”

“Yes.” Glarus took a loaf of bread from a cupboard, and removed some wedges of

cheese from a pottery jar. “It was obvious Mary had never seen such a creature. I

don’t think she was afraid, but she was hesitant to let the unicorn get too close

to the baby.” Glarus ladled the hot drink into the mugs. “However, Yeshua reached

out with his tiny hands, and tried to touch the ivory horn.”

“Did he touch you?” Bettine sipped the drink, and found the fruit tasted as if it were off the tree.

“Mary let me hold him, as she and Joseph prepared some of their food for the kings.” Glarus passed the platter of bread and cheese to the young women. “Food less grand than this. But still, the best of what they had.”

“You held god in your hands?” Sirona marvelled at the secrets she had never heard.

“Yes. While the others ate.”

“What was it like?”

“Damp.” Glarus looked at them both and laughed. “He was a warm and wet little baby, open-mouthed and smiling one moment, squeezing up his eyes in frustration the next. I still had the smell of myrrh on me, and he pushed his face into my breast, making contented baby noises. To the others, it looked as if he were trying to get fed. Joseph said something which made the others laugh.” Glarus chuckled as she took a bite of cheese. “When I finally heard what it was, I smiled too, even though I was embarrassed.”

“What did he say?” Sirona and Bettine asked the question together.

“Well. It’s no secret I’m big up here.” Glarus placed an arm across her chest. “I’ve had too much attention from too many men to let me forget.” Glarus cut more slices from the loaf of bread. “Joseph had said, that if the baby became too used to me, they’d have to use one of the cows after I left.”

“What did you say?” Sirona shared a glance with Bettine.

“It wasn’t my place to say anything. Anyway, I could tell he wasn’t trying to be offensive – or attentive. He was a poor man surrounded by rich and powerful strangers, and he was trying to be accepted.”

“Did Mary say anything?”

“Mary did not push out her garment, even if she was full of milk. After the laughter had stopped, I dared glance at her. She gave a shy smile and shrugged her shoulders.”

“If you hadn’t gone the way you did.” Bettine dipped her mug back into the flavoured drink. “Without following the star and the kings – would you have known Yeshua was a god?”

“No.” Glarus sipped from her mug, then placed it on the table. “But the circumstances were not natural.” Glarus hesitated before cutting more cheese. “The unicorn would not have been present, and I would not have seen them share time.”

“What did he do?”

“The unicorn?”

“Yes.”

“Both.” Sirona was excited. “When they were together.”

“They looked at each other with recognition.”

“But – ” Sirona coughed over her drink. “They had never seen each other before.”

“They saw more than just the bodies they possess.” Glarus placed her hands side-by-side on the table, almost touching. “When Mary realized the unicorn would do no harm, she held the baby this close to him. Yeshua reached a grasping little fist toward the ivory horn.” Glarus smiled at the two women. “You know how the unicorns avoid a stranger’s touch.”

“Yes.” They both again spoke in unison, and laughed.

“He bent his head carefully toward Mary, and let the tiny fingers rub against his horn. Yeshua’s eyes went wide as he sniffed him all over. The unicorn pawed in the dirt and the straw, and as much as his face is capable of smiling, I’d swear that he did.

“He didn’t even mind when Mary began to scratch him behind the ears. He moved his head so she could stroke the base of his horn, which he loves most of all.”

“I didn’t know of that place for years.” Bettine absently rubbed her fingers across the table. “I hesitated a long time before I even touched the horn. It can be so cold.”

“They don’t encourage contact,” agreed Sirona.

“Perhaps I was jealous. He encouraged Mary and the baby to do things for which I had waited years.” Glarus looked into the fire a long time. “He showed complete trust amid the strangers and the tumult. Usually, just the smell of humans and other animals make him disappear. This time, he ceased being wary, and concentrated fully on that little baby.”

“And Yeshua?” Sirona stared at her mother. “What did he do?”

“The baby turned his head, and stared at me.” Glarus again hesitated. “It was then I knew that I was looking into eyes which had seen the OtherWorld.”

DE

(image)http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2008/12/12/article-1093889-02C68847000005DC-361_468x332.jpg

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑