Now, why do you cry?

Here on our mountainside, all is still and all is fruitful under the western sun. Far below, I see that Father’s garden is in bloom. I see men leading a team of oxen from one fine field to another. Farther toward the sea, there sits on its rocky prominence the town of steep roofs and steep streets Seth and I have made our home. And there is our house of blue stone with a door of mossy green and beside it the small stable where Eio’s granddaughter will soon foal.

Eio has lived on. She who carries me each day to our cave stands even now in the sun, flicking her tufted tail.

Over these thirty years, Simon Peter has kept his word. I am as nothing in the stories they tell of Yeshu. But as it was not then, it is not now of any importance. I am a woman and women are used to such things.

Though we did once meet a certain Paul of Tarsus – a story in itself. In him, it seems the Mystery of gnosis lives and perhaps grows. In him, Yeshu becomes Osiris/Dionysus – as the Daemon of Yeshu intended.

Belarussian Easter Eggs

I tire now. My story is all but told and the words within me fade.

Write you now, Seth, my last truth.

The eidolon of Mariamne does not know if Consciousness is God. It does not know if there is a place beyond this place. It does not know that if when it dies, Mariamne is no more. Mariamne of the body, who has lived a life of mind, knows nothing, but this thing. She knows pity and she knows sorrow, for in their deepest heart, all men are as she is. All men are as lost and as hopeful of being found.

But this the Daemon of Mariamne Magdal-eder knows, and this the Daemon of Yehoshua the Nazorean taught: as he IS and will always BE, so too I AM and will always BE. We are all Consciousness.  We are all eternal. There is no Death. There is only Life.

~ Extract from The Secret Magdalene by Ki Longfellow