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.
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.
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