Garnette Arledge, author and writing mentor

Coming in Fall 2011. Preview excerpt: Dear ones - would you read this copyrighted excerpt from the novel I'm on the verge of publishing and send in your comments? Helpful feedback, if you don't know where to start, is to comment on its strengths and weaknesses, if you enjoyed reading this portion, and what you remember most. Then there are some technical questions: why or why not like: setting, plot, pacing. Were the characters believable. I know it's hot summer time, and thank you if you feel you care to take this on. Cordially, Garnette


The sun beat strongly high overhead the clouds, yet below the heavens even Aha’s heavy silk shawl now ragged and filthy did not block the strong late winter rain as she waited, her legs folded. She was a small dot before the Temple rising majestically out of the mud and clamor of ancient Jerusalem. Moving out of the swirling crowd hurrying to the temple for noonday prayers, a man blocked the soaking rain, offering brief relief from the drenching. She swiftly looked up, away from the King Herod’s rebuilt temple steps. A tall, spare ascetic seemingly straight from the desert stood over her, his purity enfolding her like a benediction. Hesed ben Salem. Aha sprouted greetings with happy sound, springing up to greet him. He was scholar of the Essenes sect, a well-known visitor to her uncle, Patriarch Hierophant of the Corinthian temple. Keeping his hands folded into his coarse robe, he laughed with swift pleasure:
“You’re completely bedraggled, of course”
“O Rabboni,” with the fluid agility of a finely tuned dancer, Aha was up ready to hug him, only her quick consciousness of the milling passers-by staying her warm greeting. “You know I am always eager for adventure.” They laughed together, resuming the Asian crouch naturally, seeking some relief from the rain, hunkered in the little crescent of protection in the sandstone walls of the Great Temple.
“You came following your star?” He looked into her deep chocolate eyes, so curiously lit by golden flecks. These expressive eyes widened, “So you are surprised that I too am on the same journey. Not to worry, my friend, your quest is not alone. The Mother would not send for you without making sure you were welcomed on your arrival. Others will, of course, be joining us.”

Aha kept her composure steady although clear tears of devotion welled up from her heart. Not the red tears of emotion, pain, sorrow, but pure white tears of love. She whisked them by with the back of her hand. The Rabbi smiled kindly, he recognized her tender heart, and knew it was filled with love of the Mother. “I was expecting the Mother,” she said, bowing her head. “You will see her soon enough, my dear,” he said drily. “She could hardly come into Jerusalem now, with Romans and Herod’s men everywhere looking for her. Where are your escorts?”
“They were swept overboard as we passed Cyprus. A sudden squall. My friends gone, gone completely. So I came on”

“Blessed be their memory,” He bowed his head, then interrupted his meditation:
“How did you get here then.”
“I walked, followed the crowd.” Hesed looked at her, “You’ll be fine, my dear.”
Then as he explained, he was bidden ready to take her to the meeting house, knowing the others would join them as arranged for this most auspicious of all gatherings. Aha, doubly earnest now, recalled how they sat with the Patriarch on the warm Greek terrace overlooking the Greek town far below, their spiritual enthusiasm inspiring them onward as they poured over the prophesy of old Isaiah.
Did the calling echo the vision of Prophet Isaiah, himself crying in Babylon to return from captivity to Israel? “We are not captives, but free souls,” she pondered. “But kindred who so yearn to live and love and laugh, serving the Most High Source.” Too, the pain of seemingly being apart from the Creatrix was palpable in Aha’s very being. The call to serve the Mother eclipsing every other human hunger.
The others would come, as the challenges of their far journey permitted, but when would the Mother greet them? It was one thing to have a vision of a Supreme Being, see her standing on a crescent moon, her ineffable blue gown, cream white veil over a diamond laced cap, dispensing blessings. To see her beckoning, smiling, holding open a doorway to the City of Jerusalem.
It was another to meet her in person.
How long must she wait? Timing was one thing on which the sublime star guiding her shone remote and silent.
Shaking rain from her robes, she was aware Hesed signaling her, “be discrete, be unremarkable. ” There will plenty of time to unfold the plans at Suh’s. Follow my brother over there. Take an hour to get to the Silk Road merchant’s house by the Dung Gate. You know the way?”
She laughed, another member she already knew from the philosopher’s study in Corinth. “That esteemed Taoist is sure to have tidings. Of course, I don’t know the way.”
“Then be careful, Herod’s spies are everywhere, for he sharpening his claws. He would even attempt to crush the Mother if he knew she was near at hand. He thinks she is still in Nazareth.

"Careful now, careful. Go well with the Mother.”


Chapter Two

Matthew 2:2
Saying, “Where is he
that is born King of the Jews?
For we have seen his star in the east,
and are come to worship him. Matthew 2:2

Aha made her way swiftly from the Huldah gates, her lithe movements slipping her travel stained body between the mob surging in the packed, narrow streets. All of Jerusalem seemed to be hurrying somewhere, moving unaware to the electric current of energy pouring destiny on them.
Pilgrims, travelers for the Census, servants with market baskets balanced overhead, on shoulders and backs. Children underfoot, playing in the mud with sticks. Women, swathed in heavy cloth against the winter rain, hurrying with eyes downcast through the melee. Men, all ranks and types of masculinity, taking up the most space: Merchants, priests, beggars, warriors, malingerers and always the devout. Few residents of the tiny Roman outpost, the Holy City of the Hebrews, seemed immediately concerned with the problems of prophesy.
Walls, stalls, odors, goods, animals, foods, oils, incense and flower vendors in a vivid confusion, underfoot, overhead, twisting between, people everywhere, the place teemed. And everywhere the maroon and iron uniforms of the Romans, the colors of the despised and brutal Tetrarch Herod's guardsmen.

Aha knew well the stories the Greeks told among themselves how Herod had stolen his throne from his own father and brother, this interloper into the lineage of David.
He came from Idumaea, a wandering Bedouin community, insinuating himself through his patron Marc Antony. But with Antony’s Egyptian complications with Cleopatra, Herod insinuated himself into Emperor’s sycophant. The word in Rome, however, that he was a dangerous man because of his unstable grasp on authority. “Inflammable,” they whispered and he knew it. Thus he smiled with rancor and used his reputation for his own gain.
The Rabbi was right warning caution. The times were volcanic: change was in the very air. And the King, with wit born of desperation, smelt death in the air: Death from ambition, from manipulation, from fear. This king looking anywhere but birth. The new star augured turmoil to him. Revolution was the last thing he wanted for the Hebrew people.
Herod’s father, Antipater the Idumaean, from out beyond the borders of Israel, repaired the city walls in 48 bce, and in 43 named his sons Phasael and Herod, separate tetrarchs of Jerusalem and Galilee. Many speculated Herod contrived the death of Phasael, obtaining the Roman Senate’s sanction for his own ambitions and keeping Galilee while obtaining Jerusalem and the rest of Judaea. He married into the Royal House of David with his first wife, Doris.
Once Herod establishing these connections, he married Mariammne, ranking daughter of the rival House of Maccabees, the Hasmoneans. Then began his annihilated these Hasmoneans stealthily, both from their high priestly and royal roles, until Herod was named King of the Hebrews. In this role, Roman authority also provided him with military assistance for reconquest of Hasmonean territory by 37 bce when he became full king.
However, his appellation “The Great” referred not to his leadership but to a massive building program.
During his thirty-year reign, Herod completely changed the face of Jerusalem. Herod’s temple became the Third Temple to be located on the eastern hill. Built on a massive platform, the building led to an economic boost for some in the land. Not others. But it brought artisans and merchants to the city. It was through this maze of residents that Aha wound her way, followed by her escorts.
Aha headed circuitously east past the towers and palace located in the Upper City.
The safe house was located in the Lower City, near the pool of Siloam fed by the Spring Gihon. She was in the midst of the turmoil of the walled city, a deep contrast to the Corinthian Temple.
Arriving at last before heavy cedar gates, Aha paused, catching her breath. Immediately a guard, dressed in Buddhist garb, challenged her: ‘Do you have business with my master?’
Drawing out her letter of credit on the scroll prepared by her uncle’s kinswomen Lydia, of Thyatira, purveyor of purple cloth. It was Lydia’s generosity that succored first Aha in her temple education and now this journey. She was a wise woman, affluent and as skillful in the Mystery School as in trade.
Aha waited for admission. When the polished gates opened silently before her, Aha stepped into a different world than the cacophony in the street. Before her lay an atrium with a reflecting pool. Shade trees and flowering plants. Benches; water splashing gently, serenely fromHerod’s complex web of aqueducts, modeled on Rome, brought parched Jerusalem, water from the higher hills of Bethlehem to the south, filling reservoirs and cisterns in the city. The sound of the water welcomed her in.
At the left, a sala, a gracious reception room as indicated by the guardian. Crossing to it, the coolness of the mosaic floor was generous to her sandaled feet. Before she could a take another step, a gray gowned woman gestured to the carved mahogany bench. When Aha sat, the woman bent to unbind the travel stained sandals, to dip her feet in lemon scented water. A thick towel pressed gently by the woman to remove the moisture. Followed by soothing unguent of jasmine oil. Finally, a pair of finely woven grass slippers were slipped smoothly on her feet.
Taking a step forward, Aha again acknowledged gratitude to another server who offered a bowl with a pitcher of fresh water, a fine white, lawn towel over her left arm. Aha lifted her hands, as was the custom, over the bowl while the retainer poured the rose colored water into Aha’s open palms. She raised them to her face, grateful for the refreshing coolness. Taking the finger towel, the dancer removed the grime of the streets and the weariness of moving through the mob. She accepted the ivory comb next.
While before the jeweled mirror, she removed her veil, releasing the pins from her hair and the knots of the outside world. Smoothing her bronzed hair, the golden shining with the sun’s highlights in the brown, Aha felt most hospitably welcomed.
“The Master is waiting for you in the Scriptorium. Please follow me.”
Aha returned to the leafy shade of the atrium, appreciating the random rhythm of the water and the fresh scent of spikenard and oleander blossoms purifying the air. Silently the two women crossed the marble floor, pausing at the entrance to the library. From the deep shadows of the blessedly cool room, walls to ceiling, shelf upon shelf filled with scrolls wrapped in red and gold cloth, emerged a tiny man his arms extended in welcome.
“My dear, the Mother’s blessings continue with you.”
“And also with you,” she replied in the ancient formula of ceremonial greeting. She bowed, her dancer’s body fully prostrate on the floor. He smiled, leaning over as she looked up, his hands grazing gently the temples of her face in benediction.
“Come, tell me about your journey. I have been expecting you. At last you arrive.”
“Father Suh,” she was almost wordless with the warmth of his hospitality. “The journey was rapid if sorrowful, as if the Divine Hand itself were parting the seas, fanning the sails. But the waves took two of my escorts who were close to me all my life.”
They sank into cushions arranged on a thick Chinese silk carpet, the soft peach color enhancing the deep forest green border. Peaches, the symbol of the Bodhisattva of Compassion’s generosity, were woven into the design.
Nestling her trip weary bones into the silk cushion, Aha watched her host take up a silver fruit knife, pause, select a perfectly ripe peach from a bowl resting on the round, sandalwood table between them.
“May I offer you a fresh peach to restore you from your travels. Loss is inevitable, nothing is permanent, my dear.” She nodded silently, bowing her head formally.
The welcome beyond mere form, because of the harmonious courtesy established between them, yet she was eager for news. ‘Still, still, be still mind,’ she thought. ‘I am here: it is all beginning.’ She watched his hands deftly weald the silver knife, the peach fuzzed skin spiraling, dropping neatly in rings onto the napkin before him. Then each slice placed on the celadon porcelain plate before him.
The crescents of peach, deep sienna laced with scarlet, lay like a fan on the pale green plate. It was a moment of astonishing beauty. Her heart moved, as white tears welled up in soul’s appreciation of such delicacy, such beauty. The simple act of peeling a piece of fruit became a communion, spirit and nature dancing together. It was a healing, cutting away the clinging skin to reveal the ripe, sweetness. Their focus on the moment-to-moment act of hospitality, the host serving the guest as the sorrow of her loss was acknowledged silently.
After the meal of welcome, of community, of oneness, offered and received in silent harmony, Master Suh swished his hands lightly in a crystal bowl of lavender aromatic water and dried them with a flick of the fingers. His nails were long in the Far Asian custom, beautifully tended. Everything about him and his house was simplicity itself yet somehow opulent in its sparseness. Aha rested in the peace, satiated with calm. Now she could accept the unfolding of events quietly.
“You bring good news of my colleague Lydia?”
“Oh yes, she is thriving in Thygira. The purple dyed-goods are in great demand from the Roman Empire, she has so many orders to fulfill with Philippi in Macedonia and east that she may relocate there. Even Herod has placed an order.”
“Yes, he would.” The name fell between them, the air suddenly heavy where it had been buoyant. “Herod is a dangerous man. Dangerous, because his mind never finds quietness. Be alert here, my dear.”
Aha paused. A third warning, almost the first information she heard from her contacts. She began to dread their upcoming meeting, for she carried a letter to Herod, one she must deliver quickly after her arrival to forestall suspicion of her true mission.
“Yet, it seems I must call on this dangerous man. Is it naive to think that he too is merely a man?”
“Do not make the error of underestimating him. Surely he has the same richness in him, that of the indwelling Spirit. But he has turned away from his own soul. He has hardened his heart against the Mother, caring now only for intrigue and corruption.”
Aha pondered.
“How shall I approach him then?”
“Do not fear. You know well that dance speaks its own language. And we will support you” Master Suh advised. “You will not have an audience alone. No, no that would not do at all; you are too lovely. We will not put you in risk, Aha, we will arrange to avoid that as much as possible.”
He inhaled perceptively, and changed the conversation. “Where is your luggage? I must have it collected for you.”
“Thank you, but is that a good idea for me to stay here? I thought my being here would expose my connection with you. The luggage was all lost when the boat was swamped.”
“But, love, this is not my home. It is a safe house. We have prepared it for those who have been called. No, this is your home. It belongs to the Mother. She will be here on her way to Bethlehem, and you must wait for her arrival.”
Aha looked at the sage with increased hope. So many things had been prepared, so many things thought through. ‘There is a master plan,’ she realized, ‘and I am a small cog in it. God’s plan.’
“Am I to know the timing? Will she be here soon?”
“The Mother is on her way now. She is traveling the trade route. It is a long hundred miles from her home in Nazareth, over mountains and progresses by many towns, even through Samaria. She is traveling as the Great Bestower should, stopping to bless people on the way, many wishing for healing remedies and the grace of her glance. With proper custom, she would not pass hidden from those who need her. You will welcome her in due when she arrives. We have runners to alert us to her arrival.”
He paused, contemplating her face calmly. “Rest this afternoon. Your rooms are ready. Your needs will be met. I
must be away. Will you join me for dinner later?”
“With pleasure.” and her head bowed. He briefly touched the crown of her head in blessing, rose and silently slipped out.
*
Aha woke to the evening sounds of Jerusalem slowing down. Long slanted golden rays shone through the shutters. As she lay in the high bed, Aha marveled at the prospect of dining with Master Suh and Rabbi ben Salem later that night. But first, she decided, slipping into a simple linen robe she found in a chest of clothing for her, “I am going to thank the Divine One for bringing me home.”
Although she held the prized Greek citizenship bestowed through her uncle after great effort to authenticate her woman’s full rights despite her abandonment, Aha was more a member of the Corinthian Temple than a political thinker.
Certainly she had poured over her Plato in serious study, and had her own place in the philosophers’ salons.
She lived the Platonic way, knowing that this material world but shadows flitting across a cave wall, looking for Reality in the god’s region. Yet she had an unquenchable notion that heaven’s on Earth. That Terra Firma would be spiritualized; the shadows ennobled and fully potentized with the Living Spirit. It was this heart knowing that had led her in the three-month voyage across the Mediterranean, arriving finally with only a small bag of scrolls of passage and her visions.
On arrival she had quickly made her way from the ship landing at Tarsish to Jerusalem, to the foot of the Hebrew temple, to be met as if by prescience with her friend Hesed ben Salem, who led her to this safe house. Yes, prayers of thanksgiving were in order.
So Aha danced. The room was spacious and bare except for a simple pallet and a small chest. The murals on the walls were healing plants of rosemary, thyme, lavender, spikenard. The carved window arches the only ornaments.
Slowly at first then with gaining ecstasy, she moved to an inner rhythm, her body rejoicing in the movements of sacred spiral dance, her chosen way of prayer renewing body, mind and soul.
In the dance, she recaptured the leave taking at the eastern port of Corinth in the Peloponnese, leaving the Uncle and priestess who had trained her, her company of virgin dancers and all she knew of life behind.
The sea voyage, long, tedious and incredibly beautiful on sometimes azure, sometimes poet Homer’s wine-dark sea colored with rosy finger golden dawn. The sudden squall that had taken her beloved escorts, husband and wife, her protectors, had left her completely alone.
Still, she was no Odysseus, wandering, but obediently on a golden quest following the star. So, she danced the journey until her body gleamed as with oil. Loving the Mother, dancing her yearning for completion: union with the Great Mother, realization of the long seeking, fed deeply with vision and dream, myth and prophesy, Aha’s expressive body touched the root of all humanness seeking the translucent. Not heaven above earth, not transcendence but trans-luscence. So filled with the light of the Divine Mother that only those who dance with the body as the divine instrument approach fulfillment of their vision.
At last, breathing heavily with the motions of endless spiraling, Aha gracefully comes to rest on the marble floor, spent with passion and desire for the Divine. Her strong body an instrument of art.
She rested on the floor until her heart rate quietens and breath resumed a normal pace. “Thank you Mother for this spiritual hunger you nourish within me. May I ever be your humble instrument.”
Rising and seeking a bath, Aha opened the chamber door. Outside, sitting peacefully as if protecting the inner room, a tall, wiry woman glanced up. “I am Natalie.” She smiled graciously offering her hand. Aha thought friend, not servant not slave. Companion, translator, guide, friend, “I recognize you, who are you?”
Natalie replied, her eyes dark as the night sky twinkling. “And I recognize you also. I will take you to the bathing pool, if you wish.”
“I am Aha, it would be my pleasure to accompany you there.”
Smilingly, gravely, they acknowledged each other.
Each saw a woman as if of the same family. Natalie turned and led the way down the graceful stairs to what Aha had assumed was a garden room, terra cotta pots of lilies, roses and climbing vines of jacaranda and bougainvillea even in winter. In its center, hidden by the foliage was a pool.
The pool held, obviously spring fed, living water.
Aha put a toe in, warm inviting water. She removed the robe, welcoming that Natalie echoed her movements. One after the other, the women sank deeply into the fresh water. Warm mineral springs fulfilled the promised, delicious refreshing. The Gihon spring nearby supplied the water.
Soaking with her eyes closed, Aha moved into no-thought. Her mind relaxing and emptying. From somewhere, perhaps the next room, the sound of a lyre gently tinning in harmony with the central fountain. The serene music washed over her. Natalie, whose name must mean empathetic discretion as well as birth, kept herself to herself. They basked.
After long moments, when the rhythm changed, Aha opened her eyes in time to see the calm repose of Natalie’s eyelids flicker and raise. “You like the water?”
Aha said, “Oh, so much. At home, the temple maidens would swim at dawn in the sea. I would rather be in it than riding on it for months.”
“I understand. Your voyage was long and confining. When I first came last month, it was overland from the South. We started in Sheba, the land of my father’s kingdom, paused in Alexandria to savor Egyptian hospitality and study at the library. Our trip was in stages. Still, we are here now and well met. Welcome.”
“”Yes, here. Now. I am wondering the next step.”
“Suh has told of the dinner, yes? Tonight we will go to the Rabbi’s compound. You know him from Greece?”
“Yes, he came many times to consult with my uncle, the Patriarch. I enjoyed debating and studying with them. It was good to meet him here today.”
“And tonight, you will meet some of others, at least those called who have arrived by now.”
“Who is to be there?” Aha asked eagerly, wondering who and of what the gathering consisted. The mystical team, her mentor the Patriarch when briefing her for the journey had impressed on her the inner and outer importance of the group. She was a member she knew, as he had interpreted her visions with her. The call to join came from within, as it had to the others.
“All is unfolding now.” Then laughing now, suddenly for the first time less reserved, Natalie laughed freely. “We know it is you, and me, and Master Suh, and the Rabbi. For we all serve the Mother with our lives. We have been anticipating the Star for a long time since my ancestor the Queen paid a royal visit to King Solomon. Now it shines in the sky, beckoning the called from the roundness of the whole Earth. This dinner tonight will be our first meeting, but not the last.” She paused, profound again, “We all await the Mother.”
Chills sprang up Aha’s spine. She shivered in the warm water. “Yes, we wait upon the Mother.”
“Let us dress and go. The sacred adventure awaits. You will find suitable clothing to replenish what you lost.”