The Book of Love (5 page)

Although his speech was definite, his words were a mystery.

Easa held her gaze for an eternal moment before rising to glide effortlessly across the space that separated them. He came to stand directly in front of Maureen, paralyzing her with his intense, dark eyes.

“The time returns. If you remember nothing more when you awaken, remember those three words.”

Maureen was struggling in the dream, desperate to hold on to everything he was saying. She tried to repeat the three words. This time, speech did not elude her. She managed to whisper in response, “The time returns.”

Easa rewarded her by leaning forward and placing a single, paternal kiss on the top of her head.

“Awaken now, my child. You must awaken while in this body, for everything exists within it. And be not afraid, for I am with you always. Now go forth without fear and do all things with love. Be ye therefore perfect.”

Maureen awakened with a start, gasping for air as she reached for the bedside lamp to bring light into the room as quickly as possible. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she reached for her notebook where it lay on the nightstand. She scribbled his words as quickly as they came, starting with his reference to the Book of Love, and praying that she wasn’t forgetting anything. She underlined the sentence “
Destiny
and
destination
come from the same root.” What could that possibly mean? She shook her head at the near absurdity of it: Jesus was giving her a lesson in etymology.

There, again, was mention of a promise. Keeping a promise she made? When? In this lifetime? Another? She was relatively certain that she didn’t believe in reincarnation, and more certain that such a concept was contrary to Christian teachings. What else could it mean? A promise made before she was born?

Maureen reflected on the blue light for a moment. It was shining from the pages, as if Easa’s words had a life of their own and it was contained within this gorgeous, shimmering indigo-violet color. Something pulled at Maureen’s consciousness: this light, this color was important somehow. It was something she needed to understand, but the meaning was a mystery to her in this time and place.

She wrote, “Be ye therefore perfect.” This sounded like scripture. She’d turn that over to Peter; he’d know instantly if it was or not. But the line that preceded it certainly did not appear typical of scripture: “You must awaken while in this body, for everything exists within it.”

She turned another page and wrote in large, emphatic letters

THE TIME RETURNS.

She looked at her notes again, realizing that she had forgotten one sentence. While Easa’s other words puzzled her, these—which he had spoken to her in a previous dream—were completely disconcerting. Ominous. Inescapable.

“But your work is not yet finished.”

Her work, it would seem, was just beginning.

Makeda, the Queen of Sheba, arrived in Sion with a very great retinue, a train of camels the length of which had never been seen, bearing spices and very much gold and precious stones, all as gifts to the great King Solomon. She came to him without guile, for she was a woman of purity and truth, incapable of pretense or deception. Such things as lies and falsities were unknown to her. Thus it was that Makeda told Solomon all that was in her mind and her heart and asked if he would answer the questions she had for him. They were not, as some have told, riddles to test his wisdom. Rather they were questions of the heart and soul. His answers would allow her to determine if they were truly born of the same spirit and destined to celebrate the hieros-gamos together. And yet in the end, she did not need these questions. She knew upon coming into his presence and looking in his eyes that he was a part of her, from the beginning to the end of eternity.

Solomon was mightily taken by Makeda’s beauty and presence, and disarmed in total by her honesty. The wisdom he saw in her eyes reflected his own, and he knew immediately that the prophets were correct. Here was the woman who was his equal. How could she be else, when she was the other half of his soul?

And so it was that when Makeda, the Queen of Sheba, had seen all the greatness of Solomon, all that he had created in his kingdom, and most of all, the happiness of his subjects, she said to the king, “The report was true which I heard in my own land of your affairs and of your wisdom, but I did not believe the reports until I came and my own eyes had seen it; and, behold, your wisdom and prosperity surpass the report which I heard. Happy are your men! Happy are your subjects, who continually stand before you and hear your wisdom! Blessed be the Lord your God, who has delighted in you and set you on the throne of Israel! He has made you king, that you may execute justice and righteousness.

“And blessed is the Lord your God who has made you for me, and me for you.”

And it was then that the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon came together in the hieros-gamos, the marriage that unites the bride and the bridegroom in a spiritual matrimony found only within divine law. The Goddess of Makeda blended with the God of Solomon in a union most sacred, the blending of the masculine
and the feminine into one whole being. It was through Solomon and Sheba that El and Asherah came together once again in the flesh.

They stayed in the bridal chamber for the full cycle of the moon in a place of trust and consciousness, allowing nothing to come between them in their union, and it is said that during this time the secrets of the universe were revealed through them. Together, they found the mysteries that God would share with the world, for those with ears to hear.

And yet neither Solomon nor Sheba became a consort of the other, for they were equals, each a sovereign over his and her own domain and destiny. Both knew the time would come when they must separate and return to the duties of their respective kingdoms, each to stand alone yet again, in newfound wisdom and power. Their triumph and celebration was in what they brought, each to the other, to use well and wisely in their individual destinies.

Solomon wrote over a thousand songs following the inspiration of Makeda, but none as worthy as the Song of Songs, which carries within it the secrets of the hieros-gamos, of how God is found through this union. It is said that Solomon had many wives, yet there was only one who was a part of his soul. While Makeda was never his wife by the laws of men, she was his only wife by the laws of God and nature, which is to say the law of Love.

When Makeda departed from holy Mount Sion, it was with a heavy heart to leave her one beloved. Such has been the fate of many twinned souls in history, to come together at intervals and discover the deepest secrets of love, but to be ultimately separated by their destinies. Perhaps it is love’s greatest trial and mystery—the understanding that there is no separation between true beloveds, regardless of physical circumstances, time or distance, life or death.

Once the hieros-gamos is consummated between predestined souls, the lovers are never apart in their spirits.

For those with ears to hear, let them hear it.

T
HE LEGEND OF
S
OLOMON AND
S
HEBA,
PART TWO, AS PRESERVED IN THE
L
IBRO
R
OSSO

Vatican City,
Italy present day

“T
HANKS
, M
AGGIE
.”

Margaret Cusack placed the tea tray carefully on Father Peter Healy’s desk. She clucked around him and the tray like the Irish hen that she was, pouring his tea, measuring the sugar, adding the milk just so. Maggie was what Peter’s mother would have referred to as a spinster, a woman of a certain age with “neither chick nor child of her own.” Instead, she had made a life and career as a priest’s housekeeper, beginning with her years as a teenager in County Mayo. When the priest she worked for was transferred to Rome, she came with him, and never left. She had been here for fifty years.

When Father Bernard passed away last year, Maggie had proven herself so loyal and indispensable a fixture that she was kept on until a new position could be found for her. Her absolute devotion to the Church knew no limits.

She had written to her family to tell them that it was her blessing from the Lord that this lovely man, Father Peter, had come to Rome at just the right time. That he was young and charming—and Irish—was an even greater boon to her. Maggie missed Ireland tremendously and often hummed the folk ballads of her native land while cleaning up after Father Peter’s busy day.

Today she was humming something that startled Peter with recognition. He hadn’t heard it in years. It was a hymn written in the Irish language that he had learned as a boy at the Christian Brothers school. He surprised Maggie by joining in with her.

“Céad mile fáilte romhat, a Iosa, a Iosa…”

A hundred thousand welcomes, Jesus. It was a song about welcoming Jesus into our hearts and our lives. It was traditional, but Peter thought he remembered that it came from an ancient hymn dating back to the dawn of Christianity and the time of Saint Patrick. The Irish pronunciation of his name,
Iosa
, sounded like
Easa
.

“Such a lovely song, isn’t it, Father?”

“It is, Maggie. And it only just now occurred to me that
Jesus
in Irish is pronounced
Easa
. Did you know that he is called Easa, or Issa, in a number of languages?”

“I can’t say that I knew that, Father, other than the Irish part. And only because of the song. I haven’t much Irish anymore, but the songs and poems stay with you.”

“Aye, they do.”

He let the subject drop. Maggie wasn’t one for discussions on anything alternative in her Catholicism. She was staunch in her orthodoxy, like many Irish countrywomen of her age and time, and like virtually everyone else whom Peter was surrounded by here in Rome. She likely wouldn’t want to hear about why Mary Magdalene called him Easa in her own gospel—that it was a familiar form of his Greek name, familiar because she was married to him. In fact, Maggie would probably inflict a penance of ten thousand Hail Marys on herself just for hearing such blasphemy from his lips. Her previous employer, Father Bernard, was an old-school traditionalist just as she was.

Maggie was happiest when she was mothering Peter, delivering his food and tea and tidying up his living space, which doubled as his office. As long as he restricted their conversations to daily living and reminiscing about home, she was happy as a little lark.

In addition to her duties as a Vatican housekeeper, Maggie was also a committed member of the Confraternity of the Holy Apparition, a group devoted to the understanding and promotion of the Virgin Mary’s appearances around the world. She carried a number of booklets and small paperbacks with her so that on her breaks she could study the accounts of these apparitions. At this particular moment, as she fussed over Peter’s tea, she had a dog-eared paperback sticking out of the wide pocket in her apron.

“What are you reading?” Peter was always curious.

“The life of the Holy Sister Lucia,” Maggie replied, pulling the book out of her apron to show it to Peter.
Lucia Santos: Her Life and Visions.

“Ah, Fátima. Are you preparing for the anniversary this year?”

“We are, Father. Ninety years since the Blessed Virgin appeared be
fore the little children of Fátima. We are having a special commemoration for it.”

The phone rang in the adjoining hallway, and Maggie ran to answer it while Peter sipped his tea. He needed some peace now, to think about the earlier phone call he had received from Maureen. He was not only her closest living relative, he was and had always been her spiritual counselor. They had lived through some trying times together, and both had endured extraordinary tests of faith during her search for Mary Magdalene’s gospel. There was not an hour of the day that passed when Peter didn’t wonder if he had passed or failed those tests.

After Maureen had risked her life to obtain the ancient documents from their hiding place in a French cavern, Peter had taken it upon himself to remove the gospels from France and turn them over to the Church. To do this, he had been forced to deceive Maureen and all her friends at the Château des Pommes Bleues who had aided and protected her during the adventure. Essentially, he had stolen the documents like a thief in the night. While he now wallowed in self-loathing for that decision, his reasons for making it at the time were manifold. Primarily, he had convinced himself that he was protecting Maureen. Unfortunately, she and her associates didn’t see it that way. It had taken the better part of the last two years to completely mend their relationship, and that was much to the credit of Mary Magdalene herself. Because her gospel emphasized the power and importance of forgiveness, Maureen had decided that she would be the ultimate hypocrite if she didn’t forgive Peter under the circumstances.

But Peter had yet to forgive himself. At the time of the discovery and as he translated the gospel, he was shaken to his core by the revelations within it. He simply could not accept that such a critical link to the history of Christianity should not be in the hands of the Church, where every expert available could be utilized to analyze the material and authenticate it. So he did what he thought was best by turning over the originals to authorities in Rome. In return, he was allowed to participate in the ongoing investigation into the controversial gospel.

It was a miserable existence. Peter was immersed daily in the red
tape and hierarchy of a Vatican structure that viewed him as an outsider. He was not a hero for delivering this priceless document. In fact, the opposite was true. He was suspect at all times as a participant in a potent heresy. Because Peter had translated the material first, prior to turning it over to the Vatican authorities, he was problematic. He knew precisely what the gospel said and, worse, had shared that translation with his cousin, who was a best-selling author as a result. And in his own heart he was convinced of its authenticity without so much as a single test. There were many here who opposed that idea, and Peter was often stymied and silenced in his attempts to be heard. There were moments when he felt far more like he was under house arrest than an active participant in the authentication process. He had only one ally in all of Rome whom he could really depend upon. Thankfully, it was a very powerful ally. Peter prayed for hours each night that the other members of the Vatican council would allow the light of the truth to enter their hearts during this process. He lived for the possibility that he might one day be able to tell Maureen that Mary Magdalene would be authenticated—and vindicated.