The Passion of the Priestess from Magdala: A Lost Love Story.
My Witch-Sister, together we have been raised to reject our She-Fire, and to be wary of those who will dare to love us.
Bold women dig deep moats around their hearts, always vigilant when words seem too kind, touch too authentic, and the future too marked by mystery. So sad is it, Dear Woman, when we crush our eyes shut, cross our arms, and discount love as a threat before it has a chance to envelope us in its so-sweet, so-beauteous embrace.
We thirst for the succor of a fine wine birthed from the grapes of lust, love, and spiritual connection, but we have been told such nourishment is the stuff of fantasy. Do not long for that which does not exist, or you will live a life of constant disappointment, they say. But what if the real danger lies in the too-small vision?
What if the self-preserving armor of low expectations is what leaves us with blurred vision and starving hearts?
Just now, just this minute, I was spellbound by the vision of a sacred commitment, vows spoken so true and perfect that I wept at the aching holiness of their romance. I wept again in the knowledge of how twisted and denigrated their love story has become, appropriated by the will of bitter souls who seek only asexual, masculine spirituality.
I weep now at the promise of Her vindication, the Priestess of Magdala, with Her feminine fortitude alive and well inside your Witch’s heart. Sister, pour yourself a sweet ceremonial drink, and let me tell you of Her perfect passion.
Let me tell you of the sensual sanctity I witnessed, and let me tell you of a romance born from the marriage of sex to spirit.
I must tell you, they did not know I was there; I should not have been. It was not my ritual to behold, but when He touched Her soft, bare belly in a manner so tender I could feel His hands on my skin, there was no turning back. I became a voyeur, rendered frozen by the sight of that which they told me could not possibly exist.
Sister, do not judge me, but I just could not look away. I saw the seawater lapping at their legs like their union was being blessedly licked by the tongue of Aphrodite Herself, and I saw the sinking sun illuminate their salty hair and sweaty skin.
He took her hand in his, this great god among men, and She moved their hands to press against Her bare-breasted heart. I bit my lip when He kissed Her neck and She whispered something I could not hear. I moved closer then, my Sister, crouching behind the rocks.
I moved closer just in time to hear the vows of Goddess to Christ and Christ to Goddess, and their words afforded me faith not just in love but in the whole of humanity, for if these two holy beings can share just one moment as sacred as this, surely we are all destined for divine connection.
She spun around to meet His ferociously longing and lustful gaze, and She took His face in both hands. You are mine this Priestess said, and I am yours. I am Goddess, and you are God.
She touched Him with a commanding grip, and continued: The fire of all the god-stars lives inside your body here. Then She rolled Her pink tongue on His chest. And here.
He crushed Her into His long body, inhaled the scent of Her hair deeply, and returned Her sacred vows: I will love you long after I am dead He said, and I saw him look at His hands.
I will be with you when they call you a whore, and I will want to strangle the breath from their lungs when they say you were nothing to me but my servant. Woman, I am your servant! He released Her, and knelt before Her in the water.
I bow to you in the rawest devotion, and I will never forsake your perfect wisdom. Mary, you are my She-God, and I am your disciple.
She bent down to kiss the head of the one who saved Her heart, the one who had cast out the seven devils of shame, self-pity, hopelessness, regret, rage, bitterness, and boredom. I saw Her draw Her own symbol in the air above Him, a symbol I never learned in church, and She helped Him stand.
He splashed Her back playfully, making Her shriek, as She walked to the sand, but the Priestess’ eyes were curled in worry when She spoke: We could run from this place, my love, and we would make it out alive. We could run and raise our children far from their judgment, condemnation, and vengeance. We could run, you would be saved.
His head was already shaking in disagreement when He pulled them both down to the ground. Woman, I am saved, and you are my savior.
He stroked Her body while He spoke. You are the Feminine Holy. I am the one they will worship, but you are the one who will save us all. You are the one who will fuel the awakening when my words of compassion have been twisted and tossed to suit the will of the eternally power-hungry.
The voice of Christ cracked under emotion then, and tears welled in my own eyes when He continued: You are the one the world will need when the shadows of men have festered and soaked the whole of humanity with their rotting ego-born desires.
You are the one, my Priestess, my soul-mate, who will fuel the already ignited sparks within the wombs of wild women. You are the one who will make them remember their blamelessness and their infallible divinity.
I swear I could hear their heartbeats then, thundering like a temple dancer’s drum circle. He began kissing Her belly and tracing Her mothering hipbones with his fingers.
Yes she breathed. Yes, I will make them remember. Yes, I will stay quiet when they call me dirty, and I will acquiesce when they call my sons and daughters nameless. I will clench my jaw, and I will bide my time. She propped Herself up on Her forearms, and watched Him kiss Her dimpled thighs.
But know this, you God among men, know that it is me who will choose when the time is right.
Long after they have taken you from me, long after I have watched you bleed and cried myself to sleep, long after I have heard them use your name to justify pure horror time and time again, long after my bones are in the ground, long after all of that, I will come back.
Yes, He breathed into Her skin with all the passion of the Holy Saint of Sexual Union. Yes, yes. You will come back.
It is you they may say they wait for, but it is me who will return first.
The sacred feminine will lay the loamy ground for the sacred masculine, and together, we will birth a world marked by the Divine Sensual.
I ran away then, Sister, not out of bashfulness, but because I was overwhelmed by the unfamiliar beauty of it all. Their bodies were writhing like two sand serpents, but I could no longer see them through the thick of my tears. I ran to tell you right away for fear that I may forget, but I could never forget.
The memory of their words is branded on my bones like a soul tattoo, and I can no longer settle for anything less than holy sex. No longer will I open my legs for those who are unworthy, who think of themselves as anything less than a compassionate God, or me as anything weaker than a mother-loving She-God.
My Sister-Witch, their love story is not over. Be the Priestess of Magdala, and rise up against the injustices of this world! Rise against those who call you an unclean sinner, and wash only the muddy feet of those who will wash yours.
Find your place in their Tantric, so-far tragic love story, and ensure it ends with the same magick that marked its beginning; until then, make love to the Divine on the beach, Woman, and look for Her footprints in the sand. Remember, She waits for you, as you wait for Her, and the Revolution of the Red-Hooded Woman is nigh.
Thou shalt not suffer shame to live, you wild Wolf-Woman, so surrender to the majesty of your sex-spark, so heated and so holy. You were born pure of both fertile darkness and blinding light, and there is no sin in your blood. I bow deeply now at your feet, and will wait while you anoint my head with sacred oil.
My cup runneth over for you, my love. Now raise your red hood, and come to the beach with me. I will show you the place where this Great Rite was performed, and we will claim our birthright as women of this world.
Danielle Dulsky is a multi-passionate entrepreneur, energy-healer, Yoga teacher, multi-media artist, and magickal mentor. She holds the highest designation from Yoga Alliance as an E-RYT500, and is on a mission to inspire women to be fearless creators of their sacred work. She is the founder and creatrix of the Living Mandala Yoga teacher training programs, a Reiki Master in the Usui-Tibetan tradition, and long-time believer in Earth-based traditions. Her work is based on sensing and transforming energetic vibrations, empowering individuals to discover their potential for authentic abundance, using artistic practice intuitively, and holding space for women to unearth their inner goddess through the magick of sisterhood. Danielle leads women circles, witchcraft workshops, a teaching coven, and psychic development intensives in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania where she lives with her partner Ryan, sons Bodhi and Sage, and pet-familiars Jeepster and Raven. She believes that all women alive today are meant to be instrumental in supporting the return of the Divine Feminine. You could contact her via email.