The Woman just after giving birth on Christmas cradles the baby's soft
skin in loose white rags. The only
material abundantly available in the darkness of the damp, black room. She clutches The Child protectively, tightly,
against her ever maternal breast. She
hears the baby's soft, but surprisingly strong - thump, thump, thump-human
heart beat.
The healthy white glow emanating out of The Woman's amber and golden
clothing dispels the darkness of the cold, damp, room. A prism of light scatters the darkness, and
chases it into the damp corners of the room's outer edge.
Purple shadows play upon the walls.
Shadows cast by the blue outer cloak worn by The Woman.
The Woman lovingly allows The Child to suckle at her breasts. After nourishment provided, the baby softly
cooing, is rocked to sleep, while an adoring Father looks on.
The Child sleeps cradled in The Woman's bright arms. While The Child is held tightly against her
breast, she feels The Child's warm blood pulsating through the baby's clothing,
through her own clothing, throbbing against her own body. A body which also pulsates happily with each
new beat of her own red heart.
The Woman amazed and tired from the speedy delivery, recalls the
stirrings of The Child within her womb.
The stirrings-a beat of The Child's heart. A Heart within residence in her womb; a beat,
which she knew, and heard, as well as felt.
Did this beat within the womb, she asks, this life's blood, only exist by
faith? Did she really hear it?
She recalls the purple prophetic words of the ancient scripture-I behold
The Child, though he is not near.
The Woman's faith is strengthened by the recall of the words of
Elizabeth, her kinswoman. For Elizabeth
felt the joyful beat of her own child's heart within her womb, upon The Woman's
visitation. A visitation from a Woman,
who was clothed in blue, while bathed in yellow sunshine. A visitation during a Spring of
Rejoicing. For green truly is the true
light of all the living.
The Woman watched as the true-white lamb in the Bethlehem stable brushed
up against the rugged manager. The
manger holding The Child. A careless
nail from the manger pricked through the white woolly coat, and drops of red
blood spilled out onto the yellow straw, creating an orange glow.
A passionate embrace of true God, housed in true red, and true Man,
housed in true blue, the Incarnation, creating purple, the cloak of Royalty.
The Woman pondered all this in her heart.
For-Red is passion. Love is
Blue. Purple is Death-death in
mourning's cloak.
This Purple Heart, The Child's Sacred Heart, stopped on Calvary. This Sacred Heart liberated the hot life
blood, that was no longer contained within a gently, receiving womb, but was
poured out on the cold, brown, unreceptive earthen ground. A libation to God, from God, for all people
everywhere, in every time, born, preborn, and yet to be born.
The Woman's bright eyes watched The Child with wide adoration.
On the cold, brown Earth of Calvary's hill, The Child said, "Woman,
behold your son." The Child to the son
said, "Behold, your mother."
