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."
