Easter 2015: Remembering Christ Consciousness

Night 1:   CRUCIFIXION

We break after an introductory session to prepare quietly for our enactment, building on work shared over previous months. When we return the room is completely dark but for a single candle. Strong music plays, evoking energies of the ancient Middle East. As ever, its carrying role will be essential.

You are fifteen years old and a fringe member of a group that has travelled to Jerusalem to be with Rabbi Jesus for Passover. Although it is nearly sunset people are still entering the city. You have been sent to meet possible latecomers from your community and escort them to a friendly house. The sky grows dark. The crowd becomes a trickle. Warned to return promptly at this time, avoiding Roman patrols, you withdraw quietly, moving as quickly as you can without drawing attention, keeping to busy streets before diving into an alley. Then, checking to ensure you weren’t followed, you knock twice on a second door, give the word and are pointed without ceremony to an upper room.

Maybe thirty people are gathered in a circle. Rabbi Jesus stands at its centre. He speaks eloquently about the Lord of some Dance and starts calling a series of hypnotic chants, to which the company responds. The rhythms of this exchange flow easily, accelerating until everyone is swaying in ecstatic trance, none more than the Rabbi himself. The energy peaks in a frenzied swirl before slowly winding down. Jesus’ expression quickly turns to solemn. Many present start leaving but, much to your surprise, you are directed to stay.

The Rabbi summons all those remaining to a table. Here he breaks bread and blesses wine, asking that this practice be continued in his memory. Beyond all comprehension, your destiny feels entwined with his, as if you feel what he feels and experience as he does. One of his inner circle approaches awkwardly and speaks briefly with the Master before slipping away. Jesus says soon after that he must go to a garden and pray.

Your group moves quietly onto the street before making its way swiftly to the city’s edge. Despite his silent resolution, you sense a troubled air about the Master, as if he were anxious, perhaps even afraid. You descend into a valley, cross a river and ascend a sparsely wooded slope on the other side. Jesus strides ahead with two of his disciples, then goes a little higher to be alone. He kneels behind a rock, praying fervently, as if there were a trouble he must order in himself. Amazingly, you seem to sense this also from within.

He recalls the course of his life, its roots in the wilderness of Galilee and, beyond that, communing with his Father. His consciousness dips also into a living Mother stream, shifting between one and the other, combining both until a point is reached past which the tale has not been told. His worry, eased through deep remembering, stirs again when he finds the companions sleeping. He remonstrates briefly before settling again into prayer. Twice more he interrupts his disciples before returning to the stone, sinking deeper each time. 

A procession of torches streams out from the city. If you can see them, surely he must too. He remains composed, asking that if the Cup can pass, Father please let that be so. Soon you hear the tramp of approaching sandals. Then darkness is splintered by the light of many flames. Some disciples clutch at staffs, others pull knives from their tunics only to be stilled. Roman soldiers accompany temple guards. A sense of resignation falls. Jesus is taken roughly and struck hard. Scuffles erupt but you know that all will to resist has gone. The Rabbi is already surrendered in his Heart.

He is brought to the house of a Priest where he is promptly condemned by words from his own mouth. Harshly treated by zealous escorts, he is then dragged to Herod’s Jerusalem palace, where further beatings and humiliation await. Mocked as a would-be King, he is taken next to the Romans and given into Pilate’s hands for execution. Sentence has already been passed. He knows there will be no reprieve. You know this too and wince as leather thongs tipped with metal bite into exposed flesh. Blow after blow rains down. In darkness, finally, everything goes black.

There is noise and then bright light. Water is dashed over your face. Cut loose from the whipping post, you are dragged out to blinding sun. A heavy crossbeam is placed on your shoulders. Prodded with whips and spears you stumble through an open gate, followed by others destined to share your fate. There is little of resistance left in them; or you, if this be your Abba’s will. Remembering His prayer, you step into the street. A crowd has gathered. Some look cowed, others jeer. Shocked still and weak from loss of blood, it is all you can do to keep from fainting. Sensations come at you in waves. You fall. Cajoled and beaten, you take up the crossbeam but collapse again. The third time, an impatient officer makes someone drag it for you.

 At last the infamous hill comes into view. You drive yourself resignedly on, the Father’s prayer cycling in your head. A slow ascent begins. You are ordered to stop, thrown roughly on the ground and your arms stretched out. Your shoulders splayed across the beam, piercing cries disrupt your chant as first one wrist and then the other is nailed fast. Blood spatters your eyes. You feel an agonised wrench when your weight is suspended, un-tempered by the rope slung around your chest. Vertical now, raised up, you scream hideously when an iron spike is driven through your feet. In pained delirium, you seek the balm of necessary words ‘…the glory of my Father, the glory of my Father, the glory of my Father…’ Your ears are tormented also by others’ screams … ‘the glory of my Father, the glory of my Father, the glory of my Father…’ It is hard to breathe.

The din begins to fade. You focus anew to stay conscious. Breathing is getting harder. Desperately, you press down for support. A bolt of pain shoots up. You gasp for air ‘… The glory of my Father… the glory of my Father… the glory of my Father…’ All around is terror and abysmal desolation. ‘Where are your Father’s legions now?’ ‘No miracles today Rabbi?’ It was a mistake to interrupt your chant. Desperately you search for righteous words. It gets harder and harder to breathe. Your consciousness is fading. A stabbing pain lacerates your side. Can this really be your Father’s will, the end for your lifetime of devotion?

A tide of despair engulfs, a sense of bitterness and deep betrayal. No, no, no! It cannot, will not, end like this ‘… The glory of my Father, the glory of my Father, the glory of my Father …’ No sound, just muted longing in a dedicated soul. Then a sense of imminent nothing. Abandonment. ‘My God why have you forsaken me?’ The words escape, accursed and forlorn. From deeper then, a last strangled gasp, a whisper of finally resolved intent as blackness gathers: ‘Into Thy hands I commend my spirit.’ Then it is done.

You cross a bridge made by Consciousness into lighter worlds of angelic ministration that serve to soothe the scars of recent trauma on your soul. You continue as through a series of gentle mists, propelled by wave after wave of tender care. When residual traces have been erased, you find yourself arrived in a timeless domain. Here all that must happen is already assured. Just being here is to be at peace. Human bodies, wilting from the strain of our enactment, bear the consolation of this holding into healing worlds of sleep, to resume in the morning from exact spots where we have chosen to rest in a restorative music of no-time.

DAY 2:   REDEMPTION

The Karma of the World (1)

On Earth it is just after crucifixion. Mother Mary, a visible form of the Goddess, holds the tortured body of Her Son (My Child Lies Broken). She cradles it gently, with fierce and tender urgency, as if by the quality of her holding she might erase his pain. The Magdalene clings steadfastly at his knees. The Voice of the Mother cries out in lamentation, rending air with the anguish of Her grief. A deeper resonance is also heard, drawing Jesus’ spirit down through deeper layers of Her being. The Mother’s holding continues through successive levels of his immersion.

Your soul’s imagining, identified with its Beloved, has already made this journey many times. Now you must make it again. Although Jesus has shown the Way, he could only ease the karma of our present, whose plight threatens worse than Rome could imagine. Thus we too must harrow Hell, proceeding as allowed to the Heart of Earth, there to deliver a prayer on behalf of all. This is not a petition for mercy but something bolder and more ominous: a plea that we might come again into right relationship with a Mother whose body we have repeatedly violated by our actions, knowing what we do and not.

Music, intensifying, calls you ever more urgently down through the inner being of Earth. Mother Mary slowly relaxes her grip, releasing you more fully to your task of harrowing. In hope and trepidation you step forth, moving in a light body through jagged veils of resistance that the pain of Earth throws up, venting anguish and disdain towards members of a species that has used itself and Her so cruelly time after time.

She notes the sincerity of your approach, however, and is moved by the earnestness of its prayer: ‘Mother this is X / Feel me coming / Open to receive me / Acknowledge me as your servant and your child / Take me deep into the Heart of your Womb.’ Repeating these words over and over, you step through layer upon layer of grief, trauma and congealed reserve. A way keeps opening, granting precarious access through storms of sad and furious indignation. Old wounds continue to surface, evoked by resolute advance.

At last an impenetrable barrier is reached, a ring set around an inner threshold beyond which it seems there will be no passing. At once you kneel and intone another prayer, recalled in the solemn desolation of this moment: ‘Mother, I am sorry for the suffering we have caused you / I love you and I thank you / Goddess, I am sorry for the suffering we have caused you / I love you and I thank you / Beloved I am sorry for the suffering we have caused you / I love you and I thank you / May we be forgiven and forgive / Let us marry and renew as One’.

Echoes of your prayer fade in pulsing stillness, pitch dark in this deep interior of Earth (or is it Void?). Then the wall breaks open. A new tone sounds. The Mother’s Voice beckons you on. You proceed tentatively, with steadfast courage, lest parting walls close fast again. As if in recognition, the Voice modulates once more, softening to a tone of gentler quiescence. 

You step into a central chamber, Heart-like. It too is pitch dark but atmospherically different than the precariously opening channel just behind. You feel yourself alone, vulnerable but still resolved. Uncertainly, you sink to your knees. Words of your sustaining prayer flood through: ‘Mother this is X / Feel me coming / Open to receive me / Acknowledge me as your servant and your child / Take me deep into the Heart of your Womb’.

The enormity of this request bites deep under these conditions, as if noted for a first time. You, as herald of a species that has repeatedly violated the integrity of Mother’s Love, now seek admission to the Heart of Her Womb! Guilty resonances of this appeal disrupt your awareness. You are troubled by its seeming impudence. Then angry cries break out from unseen depths.

Raucous music plays as a manifestation of Goddess appears, Kali-esque. She draws close, looming ever larger. You see clearly by the light of Her coming: wild eyes, flaring nostrils and fanged teeth; snakes writhe as tendrils for her hair; a garland of skulls dangles from her neck, just past the hanging tongue. You might have known there would be another trial, a test to see if you can abide Her naked power. She dances crazily before you, shrieking and cavorting, as if intent on swallowing you whole.

Buoyed by a sense of remembered purpose, you stand firm, holding your ground to engage slowly the rhythms of Her dance, matching it movement for movement, impressing at key moments the earnestness of your suit. You dance with Her, in Her, as Her, demonstrating a will to respect her patterns. Slowly, engulfment becomes encounter and assertion a prelude to new dialogue. Then, as abruptly as She had at first appeared, Kali is gone.

You are left again in darkness, relieved to have held your ground but uncertain as to why She suddenly withdrew. There must be some consequence of this visitation! All you can do is wait. A fresh disturbance gathers in far darkness, rising up from whatever dimension this may be. Yet another Goddess manifestation comes before you, now resembling Repanse de Joie, the Grail Maiden, dressed in flowing veils of white samite. The music of Her approach is confident but restrained; also deeply erotic. As She draws near you are swept into its pulse.

A courtship dance unfolds within the splendour of Her radiance, daring you once more to match Her steps. The rhythm changes, evoking the promise of spiritual wedding, a bliss of love being made in every sense. Soon a third voice will be heard, announcing a seed of the Divine impressed in deepest throes of sacred embrace. New heights are reached and visions stamped upon your Heart. You rest easy as the glory of this moment fades, knowing you now carry something precious within, something that needs time in which to move towards Birthing

DAY 3:  RESURRECTION AND BEYOND

1. Resurrection

It transpires that closing music heard last night was an early expression of energy charged with returning your soul to the site of its body’s interment on Earth, after crucifixion. This has continued working through sleep. Now you find yourself approaching the place where an inert corpse lies shrouded on its stone bed, awaiting final atonement on this third day.

Borne virtually, you are conveyed by this same music to the scene of your entombment. Your light body, remade, no longer seems familiar, even less than the lifeless vessel which it must nonetheless re-occupy. You lack coordinates and framework for this venture and have no sense of how your consciousness will fare.

Your soul slips into the hollow shell you once thought of as yourself, feeling extraordinarily tender. There are no signs of response as ‘you’ gradually ease in, noting again how it feels to be materially confined. The body is stiff and immobile as your consciousness beholds its re-entry to no tangible effect.

New music plays, heralding the advent of an unexpected turn as energy from the Heart of Mother’s Womb pours in. Trailing your returning spirit, it courses prolifically through, surging in repeated waves that fill ‘you’ past the point of saturation, again and again. There is nothing you can do but suffer these endlessly recurring waves as they unfold, filling you time after time with hyper-charged inflows of radiant brilliance.

The surges go on and on, relentlessly penetrating every joint and fibre. A point is reached when mounting pressure can no longer be sustained. A thermonuclear explosion blasts out from the core of every cell, scorching its vivid imprint on the shroud. Your body reacts sharply, jerking like a beast abruptly charged. It shudders wildly, scornful of your will. This process continues a while before abating, leaving you shaken and estranged in your old/new form.

After brief silence new music plays, impelling you to explore this transfigured vessel, if you can bring it under control. You rise slowly, moving tentatively around the pitch blackness of an unknown interior. There is more space than you had thought. You step boldly through, still getting used to what has happened, tentatively gauging the scope of this remade mass that ‘you’ now occupy. The tomb becomes eerily illuminated as you move.

Your attention is drawn to a massive stone that blocks the entrance. You know that you must gather the power of your enlivened body and apply it somehow to this obstacle. Circling the tomb repeatedly, you harness energy clockwise for the purpose. The music builds and with it resolution. When the moment comes you place your hands and push. The boulder rolls easily away.

Removing bandages (blindfold) from your eyes, you step out into morning sun, sensing light and heat as for a first time. This world looks familiar but also splendidly new. You find yourself in a Garden, savouring the etheric constancy of many shining delights. You see someone rushing to the tomb. Recognising the Magdalene as Beloved, you move towards her. 

As Magdalene you note this figure dressed in white and think he must be a gardener. Then, seeing the open tomb, you turn to ask what happened and are stunned to see Jesus drawing near. You run to him but he warns you against touching. He has not yet ascended to his Father. Such is your relief and understanding, no hint of reprimand is felt.

Jesus bids you tell others his great news, promising to show himself in time. Then, marrying this love of two in your human form, you experience this Easter Mystery as One. So married, you pass resolutely in your enlightened body out from our workroom to a startling world of grass and trees, inclining neither to touch nor be touched.

[From The Calendar and the Grail, volume 2, Part VIII (2015). Forthcoming under ‘Books.’]