the Bringer of Happiness

 Time has flown since I last added to this blog, and we are still in the process of learning to live (and die) with COVID. My writing continues to grow and my second manuscript, once entitled The Invisible Woman, has now blossomed into 'the Bringer of Happiness.'

The child of Jesus and Mary Magdalene is different from other people. She time travels forward into other people's bodies.


Sara, whose Aramaic name means ‘the bringer of happiness’, needs to learn how to control her time travel to save a young Cathar girl, Sarah-Marie, from the 13th Century siege at Montsegur. By saving Sarah-Marie, Sara hopes to save the writings of Mary Magdalene. This, she believes is her destiny.

My novels are grouped in a thematic series called Women Unveiled. Each novel can be read separately and are united by a distinctive feminine narrative of experiences within societal boundaries and transitions. The series blends Greek mythology, research and imagination in the telling of (almost true) stories. 

The Bringer of Happiness draws on research of the historical Jesus and Mary Magdalene, who at times are quite different from their biblical personas. It was inspired from my travels to Southern France (steeped in folklore pertaining to Mary Magdalene), and which earlier musings can be found on this blogsite. 

If you would like to pre-order the Bringer of Happiness please sign up to my e-news via my web site kazjoypress.com

This is a DRAFT of the opening chapter. Between now and its release, it may change, but I thought you may like a taster.

Before we begin

Universality and uniqueness merge in the fate of being an individual. In this merge, countless moments exist in a state of perpetual collision. These encounters weave the threads of life’s tapestry. Neatly spun or fraying loose ends, it doesn’t matter. Their diversity out-number the fleas on a feral Egyptian dog.

Moments are falsely accused of being random. On the contrary, they are passages of time laden with destiny. Moments offer choice; a split decision can avert disaster or create it. A teetering moment balancing on a precipice of indecision unfolds in slow motion the devastation of a landslide, or passes in a flicker, barely registered as a missed or otherwise lucky opportunity. Sneaky moments provide distractions for other moments to creep up unawares. Whatever their guise, never forget moments carry messages from the gods.  

From the myriad moments shaping my life, three are significant: becoming aware of my difference, realising my destiny, and naming my Minotaur.

I should have assumed with parents known to the world as Mary Magdalene and Jesus Christ, I would be different. This moment announces itself through an idle awakening, as if I am a plump lamb on a rotisserie, heating from pink to brown to charcoal.

Swaddled in my hammock I watch the ceiling approach. Too close. But it is not the ceiling looming in for a better look. Without pomp or ceremony, I have floated out of my body and hover above my fleshy form that remains encased in my hammock. This is fun. At first, I float out of my body, but later I begin to wake-up in other peoples. This difference separates me from my peers. I would be the Ulysses of my generation; except I have no generation.

Stories splice moments and memories together. They provide a sense of cohesion when recalling them from the past. Herein lies a subtle nuance of my difference. My moments of memory come from the future. It is not remarkable I travel forward in time or inhabit bodies; it is my capacity to remember which is noteworthy. For I am a swaddling babe in my hammock and my memory is a future moment yet to be lived. This should not be too difficult to accept, for in the year 34 AD, everything lies before me.

My second notable moment is the opposite to my first. I have to hunt it out. It is evasive, secretive, hiding in the shadows. It calls, beckoning me. It is an enigma, for when I float, I almost grasp it, yet it belongs to my body not spirit. It provides the answer to why I am born.

I heed my call and follow my path as it trails through wildflowers of choice. I pluck the brightest blooms searching for clues, asking: why am I here? What is my purpose? But everything is ambiguous. I have to live my destiny rather than see it. Which is frustrating, for on one hand, my life seems spontaneous, unique and unrehearsed, but on the other, I feel like I am playing a role and re-enacting a story I once knew but have forgotten. My destiny feels close, but I have chosen weeds. I am looking in the wrong direction.

The soundtrack to my destiny is a tune composed by the Moirai. These three sisters of Fate are tasked to spin the thread of my third crucial moment. Their music is a labyrinth leading me to where my Minotaur resides. Having followed my calling, I will identify and name it. Names are important.

My name is Sara. It is an Aramaic word which means ‘bringer of happiness.’ Names often inscribe the life purpose of the bearer, and because this is easy to forget due to life’s many distractions, names are a reminder of the responsibilities that lie ahead. My name implies such a role.

                                                           

A singular moment: He is standing at my cradle. He wears leather sandals but prefers barefoot. Sava and Martha sit by the oil lamp sewing. He speaks and my heart melts and lightness spreads through my body. I expel my breath and hold my hands tight. I do not want to fidget. If I move, his words will seep out from under my skin, lost forever. This is the one memory I have of Papa speaking to me. My life on the other hand, is full of moments of Mama.


Feel welcome to leave a comment. Feedback is always appreciated

Comments