Monday Christmas Storytime...

Hello.

Well, I don't really write Christmas stories - I've never really been moved to do so and that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

However, some time ago now, I did write a story which is relevant to the time of year...  enjoy, and Merry Christmas to you all.  May these dark midwinter days be filled with brightness for you all.

Maryam’s Cave

I know the places where magic comes to earth; it came for me, there, and no-one will believe me or my story, so I have never told it before.  And in time to come, when other people more learned than I come to tell the story, what they say will be wrong, and mistaken, but I shall not be here to tell them.

We have always been a people who uses the landscape, wherever possible; a cave makes a good storage place, or stable, or a home, if you’re travelling and there’s no other shelter. Or sometimes, a tomb.

It happened, on this day, that I walked to the cave where we kept the oil jars; it was a hot day, and I wanted shelter.  My father was looking for me, I knew; the one I was betrothed to was coming to look at me again, and they were going to discuss if I was old enough yet, if he was wealthy enough to support me yet… men’s talk.

I didn’t feel old enough to be married, and my sisters giggling and my aunts laughing behind their hands and my mother, pale, silent, and so I ran out when they weren’t looking, and I went to the cave because it would be cool there, and quiet.

And so I went in, and sat on the rocky ground amongst the dust and the oil jars and looked at how the cave was not so dark, inside, and the outside was all bright glare, brighter than I remembered, bright… so bright…

I do not know how he got there, but there he was, and I did not know who he was, or what he was… taller than my father by half his height again (and my father is not a short man) his skin shone as if it were moonlight and starlight and above him wings, like the wings of doves made larger and there was such fierce beauty in the sight of him!  His eyes all golden fire and his body smooth, with no mark upon it and he smiled down on me and said,

‘Maryam.  Don’t be afraid; I have something to tell you…’ and I listened, and doubted, and was afraid, and all at once, my heart thudded in me as over all my fear and doubt came a sense of joyfulness that filled me up as if all the angels in Heaven were singing…

And the day was brighter inside the cave than out of it, and golden light and yes, I knew that there was something magical in that cave for me that day.

And later, in another cave in another town at the back of an inn, more magic; my son born as all children are born, in blood and pain – and don’t let any of the old wise men tell you any differently – they were not there to see or hear it!

And I suppose here, in this cave now, is more magic; he is dead and we brought him here to prepare his flesh and now he is gone. But there; you are hearing a mother’s grief, and you will not believe me. No-one ever believed me. And no-one ever will.