Return of The Mother Flame

Before the world called her a whore...
before the church buried her story beneath centuries of shame...
Mary Magdalene was the counterpart.
Not a follower.
Not a bystander.
But the equal.
The feminine frequency of Christ consciousness.
While others scattered...
she stayed.
She wept at the tomb...
waited in the silence...
and became the first to behold the risen light.
She witnessed the resurrection.
Felt it in her bones.
Heard her name spoken by the divine.
And in that moment...
the most sacred truth was revealed:
Life is eternal.
Love transcends form.
The feminine was never secondary...
she was the portal.
Jesus may have carried the light..
but Mary carried the remembrance.
The knowing.
The codes.
The gospel that could never be written in ink...
because it was always meant to be felt.
And maybe this is the real gospel...
That death is not the end.
That rising is real.
That the divine lives within us...
in our grief...
in our devotion...
in our return to truth.
The resurrection wasn’t a miracle for one man.
It was a prophecy.
A legacy.
...for all of us.
A call to remember that no part of you is ever truly lost.
Not the parts that broke.
Not the parts that wandered.
Not the parts that were crucified by life.
They rise too.
This Easter...
I honor the Magdalene within all of us.
The one who stays.
The one who knows.
The one who doesn’t need a pulpit to be holy.
And I honor the Christ not just as a savior...
but as a mirror of what’s possible when we embody love...
and die to all that is false.
He rose.
She remembered.
And their story still lives in us.