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nevermore_logs2012-03-05 08:21 am
gospel-of-mary.insanejournal.com) wrote in nevermore_logs2012-03-05 08:21 am
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WHO: Mary Magdalene
WHEN: 22nd - 5th
WHERE: Judean Desert / Somewhere in America
WHAT: Death and rebirth
WARNINGS: death by starvation/dehydration, but nothing detailed.
Jesus had walked through the Judean Desert for forty days, but Mary would never make it that long. There were water sources she fell upon desperately as she found them, drinking her fill while the people sometimes there asked if she was alright and offered her things to eat. She didn't let them stop her though. Mary was a pilgrim and she had too much to atone for. To survive she would rely only on the grace of god that she so often turned away from. Let others call it luck - Mary knew better.
On the seventh day in the desert her thick tongue whispered prayers constantly and in her delirium she found they sometimes got mixed up. Sometimes those prayers, begging for release, for freedom, for peace, were addressed to that Aztec war god, that creature of blood and muscle and desire. She prayed for forgiveness to the very man who'd caused the sin, but things were too tangled to realise it.
On the eighth day she was far from anything, hidden from the blistering sun beneath the overhang of some cliff. (By day she felt like her skin roasted, by night she could barely stop her teeth from chattering.) Her head was painfully tight, throbbing every time she breathed, and when she closed her eyes the whole world spun around her. She couldn't remember why she'd come here anymore. She could barely even remember who she was. The sun reached its centrepoint and Mary looked up towards it, wanting to reach out. But instead she closed her heavy eyes and even with her heartbeat thundering she passed into unconsciousness.
The shadows grew long across the valley and eventually Mary released her final breath.
No Heaven.
No Hell.
No Father.
No Son.
The first thing that Mary felt again was the sob that rolled and rose from her throat. She curled her body tightly up, feeling the leftover sensation of death spill through it. There was something soft under her naked body - carpet? a rug? clothes? - but she didn't open her eyes yet. She just sobbed violently at the realisation that she had died again and that, again, there had been only nothingness. Mary Magdalene would never enter the Kingdom of Heaven and nor would she be sent Below.
Voices came to her - questions, concern, tenderness - but Mary just cried even as someone gently began to cradle her. When she forced her eyes open she saw that she was inside a church and laying naked beneath the altar. A group of women were around her, another coming running down the aisle with a handful of clothing. By the time they'd dressed her Mary had begun to come back to herself again and when they asked her name she gave it.
Then maybe it's fate that brought you here, one of them had said as she helped Mary to eat. (Her throat felt ragged and torn.) This church is a shelter for lost women - the Church of Mary Magdalene. So many of us came here because we had no where else to go.
So in one of her own churches, somewhere in the wide land of America, Mary let those women care for her in ways that she couldn't remember to care for herself.
WHEN: 22nd - 5th
WHERE: Judean Desert / Somewhere in America
WHAT: Death and rebirth
WARNINGS: death by starvation/dehydration, but nothing detailed.
Jesus had walked through the Judean Desert for forty days, but Mary would never make it that long. There were water sources she fell upon desperately as she found them, drinking her fill while the people sometimes there asked if she was alright and offered her things to eat. She didn't let them stop her though. Mary was a pilgrim and she had too much to atone for. To survive she would rely only on the grace of god that she so often turned away from. Let others call it luck - Mary knew better.
On the seventh day in the desert her thick tongue whispered prayers constantly and in her delirium she found they sometimes got mixed up. Sometimes those prayers, begging for release, for freedom, for peace, were addressed to that Aztec war god, that creature of blood and muscle and desire. She prayed for forgiveness to the very man who'd caused the sin, but things were too tangled to realise it.
On the eighth day she was far from anything, hidden from the blistering sun beneath the overhang of some cliff. (By day she felt like her skin roasted, by night she could barely stop her teeth from chattering.) Her head was painfully tight, throbbing every time she breathed, and when she closed her eyes the whole world spun around her. She couldn't remember why she'd come here anymore. She could barely even remember who she was. The sun reached its centrepoint and Mary looked up towards it, wanting to reach out. But instead she closed her heavy eyes and even with her heartbeat thundering she passed into unconsciousness.
The shadows grew long across the valley and eventually Mary released her final breath.
No Heaven.
No Hell.
No Father.
No Son.
The first thing that Mary felt again was the sob that rolled and rose from her throat. She curled her body tightly up, feeling the leftover sensation of death spill through it. There was something soft under her naked body - carpet? a rug? clothes? - but she didn't open her eyes yet. She just sobbed violently at the realisation that she had died again and that, again, there had been only nothingness. Mary Magdalene would never enter the Kingdom of Heaven and nor would she be sent Below.
Voices came to her - questions, concern, tenderness - but Mary just cried even as someone gently began to cradle her. When she forced her eyes open she saw that she was inside a church and laying naked beneath the altar. A group of women were around her, another coming running down the aisle with a handful of clothing. By the time they'd dressed her Mary had begun to come back to herself again and when they asked her name she gave it.
Then maybe it's fate that brought you here, one of them had said as she helped Mary to eat. (Her throat felt ragged and torn.) This church is a shelter for lost women - the Church of Mary Magdalene. So many of us came here because we had no where else to go.
So in one of her own churches, somewhere in the wide land of America, Mary let those women care for her in ways that she couldn't remember to care for herself.