 Hello everybody. Welcome to our next installment of the Magdalen manuscript. We are in the section One Woman Story, which is done by Judy, who is the partner of Tom. And for those who have been following along from the beginning, I got this book because Tom actually channels Magdalen. And this is, in his channeling, we know that Magdalen spoke about being born into the priest and priestess of Isis. She goes into some of the stuff that I've already founded my research to be true, although this book was channeled in the early 2000s. Well, the back part of the book, of course, is Tom talking a lot about tantric yoga, all these alchemies, what was going on at this time, these sacred practices. And now, again, we're at his partner Judy's story. And I wanted to preface that because now we're at the part where Judy actually meets Tom. Now, if you're new to the channel, again, welcome. I'm so happy you're here and I'm so happy that you're interested in understanding the Magdalen, which is what this playlist is, understanding what the Magdalen actually means and what she actually was and what that means to us in today's time. However, I would not suggest you start with this episode. Go down to the playlist in the description box below and find part one and start from there. All right. For those who have been following since the beginning, we're going to go ahead and get started today on our section, which is starting on my book in page 237. Now, as we know, she had come out of an abusive relationship and then she met a really nice man who treated her like a queen and she was out looking for a Christmas present for him when she met Tom. All right. And this is how I met Tom Kenyon, a little voice in my head said to me, you must find the tones. Give him the sounds for Christmas. What on earth did that mean? I called all my friends who sing professionally and asked them to sing for him for Christmas so that they were all on tour or unavailable. Then one night, a girlfriend called and mentioned Tom Kenyon's name during the conversation. My heart jumped and bells went off in my head, which doesn't happen often to me. For years, people had told me how amazing Tom Kenyon's work was and many had said we should meet. I had actually gone home several times during my medicine days with his phone number suggested a meeting only for the great medicine man to snarl a refusal. Later I found out why the medicine man being her ex who was abusive. Now I was with a supported loving person and I could meet whomever I felt called to meet. The words in my head, the ones without a voice were whirling and clanging and striking chords of recognition telling me to act. This was the Christmas present I had been looking for. I took Tom's phone number and called his office and actually left a message that embarrasses me to this day. I recall saying something like this, I know you don't know me, but for years people have said we should meet. I don't know if they have said the same to you, but anyway I need to find the most spectacular present for a very special man and I wondered if you consider being the Christmas present. I can relate to that. How many, especially with people that you know that there's like a something there and you go back and replay those conversations in your head like why did I say it that way? You know with people you don't feel nervous around. As human beings we're way cooler with people we don't feel nervous around than people that make us nervous or like strike something in some recognition inside of us so I can absolutely relate to her. I'm sure you guys can't do. In fact I'm going to leave the comments open for this. To cheer everybody up if you want to, you don't have to. In the comment section below leave an embarrassing memory you have when you met your husband or your wife or your boyfriend or your girlfriend. I would love to hear those stories because when we can laugh at ourselves we win so tell me those stories down below if you can relate to her and what happened to you. He called a few minutes later and we scheduled a present delivery at his home up near the Canadian border. We drove up two days later to take delivery of the present. I didn't even know what Tom Kenyon did. I had no idea he worked with tones. I was just listening to my guidance something I had avoided doing for years. We were met at the door by the largest animal I have ever seen in a house. His name was Merlin. He barely had to raise his head to look me in the eyes scanning me from head to foot. His head easily reached my chest. He was larger than a miniature horse part blood hound and part great dame. Merlin ushered us in and Tom met us shortly thereafter. Tom settled us on a sofa and unwrapped a crystal ball and began to call in the archangels. I had closed my eyes but when he began to sing they popped open. I had to see to believe what I was hearing. This music of spheres couldn't come from a human being sitting four feet away or from any human being. This was the voice of God. This was like no other voice I ever heard on CD in a concert hall anywhere even in my dreams. No one could sound like that. Tears pour out of my eyes and my body began to tremble. I have never known such gratitude. I was grateful that a voice like this actually existed on earth and that I was lucky enough to be able to be in the same room with it. Such voices are locked away in coistered palaces and hidden within opera halls and protected by guards and security. No one gets close to anyone with a voice like this and their eye was. I laughed because I've done a lot of singing bowls before. In fact I've talked to Shanti over at Aquarius Rising Africa and I've asked her to potentially do kind of a meditation with her singing bowls to put on my channel for you guys so if you're interested in that let me know down in the comment section below too. But I laugh because if you're not used to sound therapy or singing bowls or anything like that and you don't know what to expect I'm sure that would be rather shocking especially if you're new to like spirituality practices but we know with our uvatic healing that vibration is one of the elements and so that's where like the sound bowls and singing come into play with healing. I slid further away on the sofa not wanting to take these tones away from my friend. This was a gift for him. It was not for me. I was just grateful to be in the room. After Tom called in the archangels he began to process the process of taking my friend into the eye of Ibis through it and into another dimension all through tone and sound. Sometimes he was an eagle. Sometimes he was a whale and was all coming out of Tom Kenyon. We were both profoundly alerted. Then the Hathorus came through and spoke to my friend as they were old old friends. When they finished their sounds and their information and directions given through Tom, Tom himself returned for a moment to announce the Hathor goddess wishes to speak with you Judy. I was dumbfounded. I hadn't expected any attention. This was my present for someone else. I sat up straighter feeling the intensity entering the room. I have no memory of what she said to me nor does anyone else who is in the room. Some day the occasional rise for me to ask her but I know it was deeply honoring and very loving and intensely personal. So personal that none of us can remember it. I know she made references to my recent battle with dark and congratulated me for still being alive. When we left Tom caught me on the way out the door and said I have to tell you I don't do this. What don't you do? I asked. I don't see people privately at my house. He said matter of factly. Then why did you let us come today? It seemed to be a legitimate question. The Hathorus told me to let you come. He closed the door and left me standing there feeling very strange and elated. I knew the Hathorus are interdimensional beings who have been very active and beneficial in ancient Egypt. Masters of sounds and love but I had never had an experience with them before. Back at home on my little island I was a haunted person. I couldn't get those sounds out of my head. I had this feeling there was a connection, a deep connection somewhere. My friend had never been so affected by anything in his life and I was very proud of myself for creating the most amazing Christmas present anyone ever received. And the sense of connection grew inside me. I was haunted by Tom Kenyon's comments. The Hathorus told me to let you come. So about about a week later I called again. If the Hathorus told you to let us come once would they tell you to let us come again? He laughed and said he was sure they would and so another session was set and we went back once more. During this session I was given information about our Egyptian connection and at the end of the session it was clear that old friends had found each other again and I even understood why my former partner had scowled and refused to ever meet Tom Kenyon. I had been shown how I had walked a tightrope dangling above such a pit of darkness intent on destroying me that one tiny step to one side or another would have easily cost me my life. I can definitely relate to this. I sure many people can watching as well. I may not appear very logical and it's very abbreviated version of my life and perhaps I have not written the accounts of my logic but I am a devout realist. I am logical almost to a fault and I am loyal clearly to a fault and was once very polyanna-ish. A trait I was quickly getting over now that's that toxic positivity. I'm a deductive reasoner. My greatest teacher the friend in the wind always used to say master reason it out. I love that he called us master rather than demanding me approach him from a position of devotional enslavement. He always said we should never understand that we are God if we keep calling something outside of ourselves master. I began to realize that darkness isn't dumb enough to obviously look dark. It often looks like the light and discernment can be quite difficult very much so very much so. A lot of times the darkness will mimic the light right. It's like Shanti says it's like the bling bling light. It's almost too much yeah or the real light's a little bit more subtle and when I thought about it it made sense if there was such a creature as the devil where would he hide if he were smart. He'd hide in the church or some premonition thereof. He'd hide in spirituality and though I had long ago figured out that it was the devil himself so so to speak at the helm of the church of Rome and many governments. I had not looked within my own rank within what I consider the truly sacred realms of alternative spirituality where I was convinced the hope of the world truly lay and yes that is why I'm doing this series with Emmy and Stephanie where we're talking about shadow work and true yoga because the controllers have also gotten involved in the spiritual world and have inverted that as well and so we're trying to teach you guys the difference between fake spirituality and real spirituality and it was then that I realized that darkness was not dumb just evil and that the darkness would of course attempt to permeate and use our languages to defeat our awareness in this attempt to subdue our world consciousness. Darkness the evil enslavement can no longer stop us from raising our consciousness through the ignorance of sin and guilt so it has figured out how to creep undetected into our midst and stand alongside us pretending to be one of us luring us into confusion beating us back once again from an individual Christ consciousness. Perhaps I should clarify what I consider evil by the word evil I refer to anything that thwarts the coming forward of the Christ consciousness into the earth plane anything that deters enlightenment. My friend set up all that night watching me. I went to sleep with him sitting on the edge of the bed staring at me tears streaming down his cheeks. I asked him why he was crying and he said he had no idea how close he'd come to losing me and it broke his heart to imagine me so threatened. I woke to find him still sitting there. He swore that as long as he could help it I would never be at risk again. I remember the first time I met Pan Kenyon. It was several weeks after the fateful experience with the Hathors. She lit up the whole room with the glow that came directly like a light being straight out of her heart. Her smile was sheer magnetism her continent's pure goddess. She was one of the most beautiful people I'd ever known. She and Tom became dear dear friends and when they moved onto the island almost next door life really felt blessed and our circle seemed complete. Then my friend went back to Europe for a few weeks. I was to join him there soon. He called several times a day for a week and then he discovered his European business associated happened during the corporate funds. Then his associate emptied all the bank accounts and fled. My night and I still talk several times a day during this crisis and I only finally realized how serious the loss was when I asked him point blank how much money he had left and he told me he had $20 in his pocket. And since that wasn't enough money to buy a gas to get home he was going to have to leave his car in the parking lot and take the bus home. That's rough. That's really rough. And then abruptly the call stopped and the light in my heart went out again. This had been a very successful and powerful man who had collaborated everything he owned to a man who disappears to get the funds to start a new business in America. So his loss was both financial and emotional. Many many people were hurt when this occurred and not only had my friend lost everything he had in the world but he felt responsible for all his associates employees who are now looking to him in their desperation. I remember the last call I got from my white night. I could hear the tension in his voice and I could hear the only slight muffled sobs of a man in the background. When I asked about the sobs my friend said it was an officer in the corporation who didn't know how to make his mortgage payment and my friend had no money to give him. And then the phone fell silent. I slept with a cordless phone in my bed every night waking every hour or so to make sure there was a dial tone. Six weeks went by and I was losing my mind with worry. He had come to my aid when I was at my worst. I had to do the same but I didn't even know where to go. All the company phone numbers had been disconnected. Finally in desperation I called the only person I thought I could get a message to my friend. I asked that he locate my friend and tell them that I was on my way to Europe to help because he had saved my life and now I must do the same. I just wanted him to know he wasn't alone. I asked him to tell my friend that no matter what had happened we could work it out. That got a response but not the response I wanted. I got a fax that said he just couldn't be everything to everyone any longer. It said that he had taken care of too many people for too long and now he needed to take care of himself. He said he was going to take some time and go away and think. He said he loved me very much more than words could say and that someday I would look up and see him again walking down my road. He told me not to come. He told me he would come back for me that it would be a very very long time before he could get there. I have no words for the feeling of loss. I huddled on the floor holding a slick paper in my hand. I remember it was daylight outside and the night fell inside my heart. The sun set inside of me and it would be a long time before dawn. I barely read the fax when Ruby's neighbor in Virginia the good Christian ones who had always been able to tell everyone what to do in the name of Christ called to say that Ruby had no business living alone anymore than if I didn't do something to get her out of there they would turn her into social services. They said she was getting too mean and they couldn't be bothered with her anymore so remember Ruby is her adopted mother. Adriana and I flew to Virginia and packed Ruby's meager belongings and brought her to my little island farmhouse. I possessed an immense inner strength and survival will but I was reaching my furthest edges and I knew it. I was drift on an ice flow and it was my part. I had survived an abuser the loss of what I thought was the love of my life and now I had to care take a 95-year-old source of my childhood pain. One night shortly after she arrived I was over at a girlfriend's house sobbing my heart out. I drove home around 5 p.m. to find Ruby sitting in the window just like she did when I was 18 years old. I shivered took a deep sigh and walked in. And where have you been young lady? How dare you come home so late? Her bony finger prodded the air near my nose. She heard her thump to make a little spitting sound as she shook her head. Good girls don't go out this late. It doesn't look good or maybe you don't care what people think. There it was. There was the source of my entire life of caring what other people thought. Something was gravely wrong with this picture. The words of my old teacher in the wind ricocheted my ear. Look around you master he used to say. Look at all the people around you. Not one single person would step in front of a bullet for you. Not one person would die for you. If they won't die for you, why are you living for them? That's powerful. That's deep. I hated having Queen Victoria back in my house and my heart ached for my friend, for someone who loved me just who I was, not for who I appeared to be or how I looked or even what I did for him. Derico came tumbling down. My walls crumbled underneath me. Nothing could support me any longer. There was nothing there. I had just begun to touch into the anger. Finally at the abuser, at all the abusers in my life, it had taken 40 years but I finally found my anger and it was to become my greatest ally. Now I was to learn sadness with my friend's disappearance. It was the first time I thought someone finally actually loved me. Now the tears of 10,000 lifetime came in torrents. There was nothing I could do to stop the pain. I had always been able to short my emotional dyke but these floods could not be assunged. There was no comfort to be found. The eagle screamed but I could not hear them. The great black fish surfaced but my eyes could not see the lake. Even the white owl came to comfort me but I could feel no loving stroke. I walked with pain and the desire to die for almost two solid years. I cannot exaggerate the intensity of this anguish. I cannot find the words and any theosaurus which when swiped on paper adequately capture the depth of this pull of torture. Do you know what happens when you cry for hours on end? Yeah, actually I do. There is a point reached in sobbing where you can only wrench until you throw up gagging and choking on pain. Oscar Wilde's great ballad looped endlessly in my mind. Yet each man kills the thing he loves. By all let this be heard. The coward does it with the sword. The kind man with the sword. Cowards and kind men alike had killed me. I begged the gods to let me die. I desired death. I wanted death. I didn't have the courage to do anything about it but I wanted it. I courted the fancy in my mind and dreamed of having the courage to act on it. I cut absolutely everyone out of my life except for my daughters and Tom and Pam. Tom and Pam unfolded me in loving friendship taking me into their inner sanctum like a wounded bird. Three other friends stayed by me. My daughters held on to me. Adrienne promised me that someday I would want to live again. A notion I couldn't believe. And Jennifer said, Mom just imagine how amazing the next one will be. He's going to be even better. I thought she was insane. I will never let another man within me. I will never let another man within ten feet of me, I railed at her. Never, never don't talk crazy. And so it was that I decided I needed some time to myself. I had processed a lot of the emotional material already. It seemed to me enough for one lifetime and now I can handle it no more. Caught between pain and anger. My death wish was growing. I couldn't remember anyone who had ever kept a promise to me. So many promises over so many years. And it was that a dream. And so it was that a dream was born. If no one else had ever kept a promise to me, I must keep one to myself. I'd always promised myself that someday I'd take the girls to Europe on a journey of spirit. Desperate times as they say, call for desperate measures. I took what money I could scrape, hired someone to take care of my mother, rented a car on the internet and flew to Amsterdam with Jennifer and Adriana. It was potentially our last summer to get together. Jennifer was going to India alone in the fall and it was Adriana's last summer before a senior year of high school. But high school could wait a month I decided. Nothing she would learn in one month of public school could ever equal what we were going to learn traveling Europe together hunting goddess sites. We landed in Amsterdam and we're met by friends of a friend. Ron took us home determined not to let us sleep prematurely so that we would become acclimated to European time more quickly. I agree with that with my I mean I travel so much with jet lag just push through baby just push through don't go home and take a nap slow but early Adriana fell asleep right away but Jen and I pinched each other to stay awake. He put on a documentary video and promised it would entertain us. It more than fulfilled his promise. It was the story of the Priory of Sion, the story of my name, the story of a priest named Sonnier and the treasure he found. One of the few remaining clues to the mystery he left behind on a parchment that read the treasure belongs to Dagbird and to Sion. I flashed the little shack in Appalachia where I was born and my birth name Zion which came from Sion. I laughed at the equally preposterous name I was given less than a year later when I was adopted Pope. I had always intended to take my birth name when the woman who adopted me died. She was now 95 and quite alive and I was caught between names as she was caught between dementia and sanity this world and the next. The documentary unfolded a story I knew to be true a story I knew in my heart that it shared with many people but I had no idea anyone else would ever tell such a story. I had logically deduced the truth from little things that strung together and from a woman's heart which always knows the truth or at least knows her true but here was evidence or so acclaimed of what I had known for so long and felt so alone with. This documentary mentioned one name I remember Rayleigh Chateau and I swore we'd find it. That's what I had written on a scrap piece of paper. It was somewhere in France. We took off in the morning and I had one goal to find this place and solve my own mystery. We drove at breakneck speed through Germany assaulted by hail so heavy the roof glinted with dents in the sunlight of the morning. We had so much to cover before France and we found ourselves in Italy where we jumped on a ferry to Greece. We literally followed a crescent moon to Delphi. We couldn't read the road maps they were in Greek but in the middle of the night we ascended the mountains and when the moon set we followed our hearts. It's a funny thing to stand on land you once lived on and not be allowed to fully explore it. We sniffed at a little chain that said no admins. Locked entry to the spring of the Pythia. How do you tell a swallow not to enter? Hungerly we drank the water and climbed the ancient stairs cut so deeply into the vaginal walls behind the spring. Then we went to Hera's spring and drank and bathed there according to the legend she returned each year to restore her virginity but the most haunting experience in Greece was not as a presupposed sacred site. We were asleep in a campground somewhere near Ishfemiah along the Mediterranean. It was three o'clock in the morning Pam appeared and woke me up. She told me something but I was too groggy and still half asleep so she grabbed me and sat me bolt upright. I stared literally into her very face in Oliver Splendor. She looked absolutely beautiful radiant and literally she was there. She said six words to me and I slumped back down. She grabbed me back up by my shoulders and this time she took me for the effect until I woke up enough to really hear the six words she repeated. She extracted a promise from me and then she released me. I looked around to find myself sitting up on the Mediterranean beach in the middle of the night. I woke the girls and told them what happened. None of us could figure out what it meant. I think Pam asked for a travel tour. A few days later we took a ferry back to Venice and crossed back over to Italy and entered France to finally search for Rene Leicepto. I hope I'm saying that right. My French is terrible but there was no such place on any map we could find. So we decided to go to Arlais to see if the light was really different. Van Gogh had painted there swearing the light was so different in Arlais than anywhere else and that's how we came to just south of Arlais late one afternoon as the sun hits a place of light unlike anywhere else I'd been on earth. I guess you could say I just followed the light after that. Arlais itself felt too busy so instead of entering the city we turned south. The Mediterranean wasn't too far according to the map maybe a detour of some 30 miles. As we drove the land flattened in the marsh, peat grass peaked up between the endless fields of lavender. Rounding a corner we almost collided with a man on a white horse hurting black bulls along the road. He wore an old sweat stained stints and a pair of wrangler jeans. This was on a working cowboy no-show pony. Latherclaps covered his front legs. We drove on in the lavender fields. He yielded to full marshland with rivulets of winter and galloping herds of white horses work everywhere. Barnes on either side offered riding and we chose one. Trotting along we rounded a corner and spoke and spooked hundreds of pink flamingos which took the air leaving us behind in a stream of wind off a hundred of wings. The horses took it for granted. We were startled. I was forever enchanted. The road ended at the sea and we got a room the night in town where paella was easier to find than a crepe and a bullfighting ring was where the town parking lot ought to be. I hate churches I always have. To me they are houses of hypocrisy but I had read about a little church here built on a goddess site as they almost all are and we bumped into it walking along and so it was that we entered the tiny church at St. Mary de la Mar the art depicted women in a boat. The marriage and the story I carried in my heart for so many years to have been the local and historical validation Magdalene had been here. I don't think so because I think our geography is off but I think they did a really good job convincing us that's where Magdalene was because we know there is a sculpture of Magdalene in Washington D.C. Through the years Magdalene had rather become a patron saint of sorts. I saw her as the lost bride the feminine not only taken away from Christ by the Bible editors but the woman shamed and vilified the woman made it into a whore and hence all women in her seed. Whenever I asked the women who raised me about my birth mother she always cringed and slothed off the question with a shudder and a less than deft air of interference as to the questionable morals of my birth mother. So perhaps I know personally the damage that can be done when a human being is so easily dismissed by even the hint of impropriety never mind the outright label thrust on Mary Magdalene. Somehow miraculously we found the place where Magdalene landed when she entered France after the crucifixion. Not necessarily true but we'll keep going. She had come in a boat with several historically significant people according to the legend held there. Among the people in the boat was a young girl who they called Sarah. Magdalene says her name cannot be translated into English that is very guttural and that perhaps Sarah would be more accurate. Sahar would be more accurate. Legends depict her as a servant. I know her to be the daughter of Yashul and Magdalene called the dark one and presumed to be Egyptian because she had hidden in the shadows to protect her life. We visited the tiny crypt where Sahar stands all but one day here and we're more enchanted than ever remember feeling in such surrounding. It is actually the only time I've ever felt holiness in the church. We actually know they had five kids. Sarah was just the oldest one. They had five of them. Sarah is a patron saint of the Gypsies and every spring tens of thousands of Gypsies come from all over Europe to be homage by taking her effigy to the sea and bathing her in the Isis ritual. All year they visit her in her crypt and bring her new robes and gently layer her until she swells with teffeta and netting and sequins and rickrack. They run their baby's fingers across her lips and kiss her wooden cheeks smearing their tears into her wooden flesh and then on the one day she rises high above them on a litter led by a silver sandal white horse snorting and prancing and she moves the thongs to the place at the edge of the sea where she landed with her mother. In my brief time standing before her crypt she called to me and I found I wanted to spend time with her waiting patiently for my turn to step closer to her and honor her over and over. I finally worked up the courage to touch her wooden cheeks with my finger and it brought tears to my eyes. The only way I could tear myself away was to promise Sarah I would return some day with the Gypsies to watch her ride the clouds to the sea. Nothing could keep me from writing, finding Renee now. I told myself not after this high. You can't imagine how we felt all three women driving across Europe sleeping at campgrounds in the car occasionally taking a hotel room searching for history for bloodline for that which runs through the veins driven by something beyond understanding. We had no tour guide no maps beyond Michelin. Renee alluded us and we wound up in lords amid litters of sickness and palsy and aging sagging bodies huddled together shepherd by dozens of women in black robes. Sad forlorn people shepherd by sad forlorn looking nuns were everywhere. Hundreds more desperately held plastic bottles in the shape of Mother Mary under faucets filling them capping them and stuffing them into shopping bags to be taken home like a souvenir. Holy water in a plastic Mary. I was disgusted. Adrienne who has never said a bad word about anybody or anything said this is the darkest place I have ever seen. You can stay here if you want to but can you take me to the edge of town and pick me up on your way out? We survived lords and after exhausting myself looking for the light I never found there we left that afternoon leaving behind us in the rear view mirror black robe nuns pushing black draped litter and ancient wheelchairs back to hotel rooms and buses. There were no miracle cures in the water of lords that day. My heart told me that Reims was back behind us somewhere so close that we almost have been past it to get to lords. Our time was running out. Soon we had to be back in Amsterdam. There were planes to be caught in school for Adrienne. The woman taking care of my mother needed to go home and Jennifer was leaving to study in India in just a few days. In spite of that I turned the car back east and we headed to the Pyrenees. Darkness overtook us but the full moon sank to me as she wove in and out of the hilltops and then the moon began to disappear. Little pieces of her eaten away by some invading force. We pulled over and watched the full moon go into the total eclipse somewhere in the foothills of the Pyrenees. We fell asleep that night in a car off to the side of the back of the road somewhere on the way we hoped to Reims. I remember waking and stretching a maze that I learned to sleep curled under a steering wheel. We woke up to a chill with dew still present in cows and the sounds of chickens roasting and calling dawn and the sound of chickens and roosters calling dawn. All day we drove into villages and down country roads stopping here and there and asking for Reims. Someone gave us directions that left us in the driveway of a deserted house in the middle of nowhere. I have no idea how it is that we wound up in a little town south of Carcassoni but here we stopped to ask directions to a hotel. I needed a bed that night. Well the only place to stay around here is an old castle right back there on the river. I should have realized that that was the full moon eclipse. We might be privy to some magic. Gripped by some a sense of promise we wound the turlets climbing stone stairs worn by agents. Thousands of feet had trod them until one step dipped to meet the other like ancient tango dancers. The castle dated back to the days in Templars when the breeze blew stories at nights and crusades through the air and mysticism filled the homes and the hearts of the Cathars. One of the most persecuted sects who were ultimately massacred by the Catholic Church. We've studied, I've talked about the Cathars a lot on this channel in the past. I felt the mystery slip into my mind and wrapped tentacles of a haunting that had become so familiar with me around my heart capturing me and carrying me into dream time. In the morning I slipped back down the turrent early in St. McCourt Yard encircled by those high walls and sipped espresso and a croissant. Life is so good in southern France. We packed the car and watched the willows weep in the rear view mirror as we chose a direction out of town. I turned right and then left. I don't know why. I can't tell you that I let go when something came and took the steering wheel. I just turned left and wound it up the hill round and round and up and up and up. Prickles broke out all over my face and arm legs and a feeling of elation took me. At the top of the mountain we pulled into the tiniest of villages and parked. We walked in the only direction that kept us from falling off the mountain and found ourselves passing a bookstore with the obvious markings of Esoteria. I cannot tell you how out of place in the tiniest village I have ever probably seen and a cold bookstore appeared to be. Our pace quickened. Up a rise and there it was the tiny church at Renele Chateau. The door creaked just enough for the effect and we stepped inside right past the devil himself or so he is thought to be by the religious ignorant about the three feet high carved in wood with cloven feet and horns and buried teeth holding the holy water. On a panel the Magdalene sat with a skull at her feet in a painting of the Last Supper she sits under the table as a disciple's toast to Yashua. She brushes her cheek against his ankle her hair wrapping around his feet. The ceiling is painted with blue stars like an ancient Egyptian tune. I quickly sat on a pew before my legs could betray my putt-ranked heart. Beyond the church lay the home of the priest Sonry and Latour Magdala which she built and so named overlooking the Pyrenees. The mystery of what Sonry found in this famous discovery was that the document was about but it was not a consequence to me. I didn't want to know what he found or where he hid it and no urge to dig in the graveyard. My digging urges were elsewhere. I wanted the truth behind the mystery. I wanted the alchemical truth and I knew it had to do with the Magdalene and her tantric relationship with Yashua. What could possibly have been so important that the Catholic Church destroyed a whole people in wrecked habit on this entire landscape to keep secret that Yashua was not celibate. The Magdalene was no poor but the bride of Yashua a high initiate, one of the highest in the temple of Isis. Well prepared for her sexual relationship with Yashua in the temples but they had a daughter and that her lineage was literally rightfully inheritor of the kingdom to those who believed in or feared the kingdoms as the church did.