epilogue: the jesus and mary chain

yeshua was clad in rain and armor - the trappings of a soothsayer of snakes, he who fasted in the desert for as many days as Noah's flood - but satan's serpent bite had been bitter, and sometimes my rabboni had fires in his eyes.

'yeshua, i am with child, my star of adonai,' i wept in his arms in a skincloth tent. 'what do we do? my womb is twisted from my work as a qadesh. diseased. the babe - it stopped kicking. it is given to sepsis. what must i do, my love? this poor child between us.'

yeshua wept with the might of thunder, and lightning pierced a sickle of a fig tree in the sky, burning it.

'there is no choice, miriam. we must take pennyroyal tea. oh, i am not meant to be a father - don't blame yourself. my seed is barren, and i can only give you fruit of the soul.'

we held each other as the rain stormed, and he brewed the pennyroyal to a simmer over the coals of the fire judas had lit earlier. now, just embers - like the poor babe in my womanhood.

i drank it. the blood started. contractions. he held me as i howled. yeshua summoned a rainstorm to cloak my vomiting and screams.

and then, the babe was born. it had tiny wings of the elohim. it crumbled to stardust and glory.

a tall angel, mikhail, was born from the remnants of the dust. he smiled, ether, glowing like norea's eleleth.

'mother, i will make you proud. you shall never bear a physical babe - only the songs of god.'

the holy ghost passed me, and yeshua and i kissed as he cleaned and tended to me.

mikhail ascended like starflame.

i dwelt much on it in the coming days. that first child i lost. all the millions more to follow, down the line, from adonai's sacred seed.

each passover, i remember - how our love was bitter herbs.

the heart of god is not easy. not an easy thing to hold, to eat. not an easy thing to know.

but i sup at his breast, and drink yeshua's light.

it is my only solace, here in my cave, where my sons mikhail and gavriel rapture me

up

to the clouds

each day, i fast, and study poets and sages.

john writes me, from patmos: he says: i have seen the end.

but i know only beginnings of things - though christ is not here in body, in the quiet places

i feel him.

miriam visits often with food. she and joseph are in the land of the gauls.

i am here, not quite there. the days grow long.

but i pray, i pray, i pray

that one day

i will understand....

why.

~en fin~