Noli Me Tangere
The full moon woke her at four AM. The moon's voice whispered, "Wake up, meditate, become pure light."
So she wandered through the wetlands, disturbing the frogs and mallards, until she came to the wild grove of apple trees and the tomb, the tomb of the past, where they try to bury Masters.
The tomb was empty. Something like a breath had rolled the stone away from Mary's heart. She wept with joy in the garden of the present moment.
Now he is walking toward her among the first Spring flowers, still crystaled with snow. As she reaches out her hand to touch him, he says, "Noli me tangere: do not cling to me!"
Of all hard lessons in the Magdalene's life, this is the hardest. For she loves his form, his glance, the sensuous sway of his white seamless garment, and his tender sandaled feet.
But he is a true master, and a true master says, "Do not worship my form. I am not this face, this gaze. I am not a white robe dancing in the moonlight. I am the burning in your chest. I am your own radiance. Worship the one who shines from the center of your heart. That is who I Am."
"But master, before I met you, I was asleep."
"Mary," Jesus says tenderly, "I gave you a little breath of light. Now you must do your own awakening."
This how Mary becomes an ecstatic outcast, a joyous orphan without a church, a child of moonlight, a paramour of the Lover Within.
Painting: Giovanni Girolamo Savoldo, 1536: Mary Magdalene