Shortly, Yeshua appears. “What’s this?” Sarah hears his voice and pulls away from me.
Brandishing a wooden sword, Judah bravely answers, “We are Mary’s earth angels, so you better beware.”
Yeshua puts up his hands, “I surrender to your demands. May I visit with my wife now?” Recognizing their brother of old, the little girls jump upon him. After a few moments, the children kiss us goodbye and dance out of the room. We are alone.
Offering silent gratitude at the sight of his silvery aura clear of fear, I open my arms. Yeshua hugs me to him, our tears merging to dampen Sarah’s sweet head. The dark time finally over, all is forgiven.
After kissing my lips with loving compassion, Yeshua whispers, “Mary, can you use your connection and call Teoma back home?”
Gladly, I do his bidding.
First Shabbat of Shevat, 3774
Desperate, I paced the olive grove until a voice in the ethers interrupted my lamentatins. “Why do you wail, Son?” Ambrose! Of course, I am transparent to my Druid teacher. “My, my! It appears you have lost your way, my prince. Are there not three very wise men happy to help if you but ask?” I bemoaned how lost I had become, then with conscious breath, invited the hayye of my beloved mentors.
Zsao asked one question of me: what is fear? And before my eyes, fear existed as darkness where light could not penetrate. Just as darkness is the absence of light, fear is the absence of love.
Then Reiti’s query prevailed: how does the healer heal the sick? Waves of energy coursed through me, as I perceived my wife’s illness as a reflection of my fear. To heal her, I must heal myself. The darkness of my fear lifted and the light of love shone into my heart.
Belshazzar’s deep-throated laughter preceded his question: how is this journey of love upon which I embarked with my wife serving my soul? A memory washed over me of the lessons from my youth, learned spiritually, mindfully, and, now through Mary, physically realized where I live in love.
Ambrose reminded me of our journeys together to witness the suffering and fear of most conscious beings on earth. The gift of my life with Mary, as tumultuous as it has been, and will be as Belshazzar reminded me, is that I am deepening in compassion for myself as well as for others.
I had lost my way, separated from Eloha by the veil of my fear. Thankfully, I was steered back on course by my teachers whose provocative questions acted as beacons of light. As my being expanded with love, Mary awoke from her fevered slumber. Her mind, now clear, expressed her delight at being forgiven, but it was forgiveness of my self-judgment that was necessary to heal the wound my fear had created in our relationship.
***
The journey home from Nabataea has been long, but with the speed of the white stallion, Teoma shall arrive before the Pesach. The graceful strength of his mount fills him with hope. Yeshua must have forgiven them for Mary called him home, pulling on his heart just like that fateful night. When the stallion’s hooves strike the rocky path, he winces, holding his right side. The Nabataean king’s healers have not the skill of his friend. As the valley of Jezreel stretches before him, his mind wanders back to the desert.
After Yeshua’s dismissal, Joseph sent him to Judaea under Theudas’ command, a very different experience than under Judas. The zealot leader used his Roman appearance to gather intelligence from the oppression. After months of infiltrating the Herodian guard, Teoma’s loyalties were nearly discovered by a sharp commander. Theudas swiftly dispatched him south of Judaea to gather resources from their Nabataean neighbors. That is where he first espied the horse.
The tribes of Nabataea had gathered for the great chariot races to be held in Herod’s coliseum. The zealots amused themselves watching from the far ridge as the young men raced magnificent horses. A white stallion caught his eye. Ignoring the taunts of his companions, he brazenly approached the young sheik.
“What would you wager for that animal?”
“I would give up my wives before this stallion!” The sheik laughed and Epher tried to pull Teoma away.
Shaking off his comrade, Teoma appraised the fine horse, caressing its face and looking deeply into its dark eyes, certain that it desired to be taken to Mary. “I challenge you to a test of skills, sheik!”
Stroking his short dark beard, the Nabataean studied him. “I do love a challenge. But what do you have that I might desire?”
“I have a great inheritance!” Teoma cared not for the wealth, but his uncle would be furious if he lost his mother’s inheritance on a wager. Epher shook his head.
“I am Ahad, son of King Aretas; I do not need your gold!”
Teoma knew that the Nabataean king was in great debt to Herod Antipas. “I hear your father must win this race, prince!”
Ahad’s face darkened. “I will best you, Roman mongrel,” taking in Teoma’s shaven face and cropped hair, “and take all of your family’s ill-gotten wealth!”
Feats of skill followed feats of strength. All the training Teoma had received in his youth proved insurmountable by young Ahad. By the end of the first day, he had won the sheik’s wealth, including his five wives, but Ahad stubbornly refused to wager on the horse. It was nearly midnight when the king’s guard interrupted their game.
Unmarked before, the soldiers brought Teoma bruised and bloodied, before the Nabataean king.
“If my son has lost everything, why does he not look as bad as you do?”
“Prince Ahad was not the one to mar my skin, sir,” his breath shallow from the great pain in his side wrought by a thick staff.
Aretas grumbled, studying Teoma a long while. “You have much courage. I have only seen one man use an atlatl as well!” The king held up the grooved piece of wood from which spears are thrown with great speed. “How do you know the Aksum king?”
“Belshazzar came to Nazareth to train me up in the ways of the young men from his land.”
The white bearded king looked surprised. “You? No, there was another about your age. Who is your companion?”
Teoma hesitated. What harm could Aretas do here in Nabataea? His closed mouth incited his captor.
His eyes mere slits, Aretas warned, “Perhaps I should return you to my guard?”
Standing straight to hide his pain, Teoma vowed to protect Yeshua with his life. Let Aretas have his way, he would get nothing from him.
Aretas called for kaffa and sipped the hot dark drink slowly, draining two cups before speaking again, “I know Belshazzar well. Nearly twenty years ago, we visited a babe in Nazareth with Hor of Tarsus. You protect the prince of peace, do you not?”
Keeping his lips sealed, Teoma wondered if it was true. Was Aretas one of the three kings rumored to have paid homage to his friend? His passion took hold. “Wasn’t it you who alerted Herod of his birth?”
The king nodded, his face shadowed by sorrow. “Yes, and I have paid dearly, giving my precious daughter to his crude son, Antipas. How unhappy she has been all these years because of her father’s mistake. It is a wonder you survived.”
His uncle had taken Teoma and his mother to Egypt during Herod’s rage, while