Entering the cave of Mary Magdalene in France...

Leaving Israel was full on. I showed up at the airport 3 hours early, and got to my gate when the plane was already boarding. The reason? When I went through security, they asked me questions. I answered honestly. The man interviewing me asked me who I spent time with. I told him I had a Palestinian friend. I think it was that answer that got me flagged, nothing else was suspicious, and I was sent to the high security line.

After a long wait, the people at security scanned me and patted me down at least 3 separate times. They made me take off every piece of jewelry, every article of clothing that wasn’t my base layers. They swabbed everything I owned with fancy equipment. Finally, after what seemed like hours, I was let go. That was such a brief encounter, but I felt it - and I felt it the whole time I was in Jerusalem. Control. A tight grip. A very, very, tight grip. Deep violent shadows lurking. People say that there is wrong done on both the Israeli and Palestinian side of things. I’m sure that is true. But I couldn't help but feel for the Palestinians, as clearly Israel had the upper hand, and was asserting it, forcefully. I couldn't even leave the country easily, because I mentioned I had a Palestinian friend.

{ This is Part 4, the final, in a series, read part 1 here: https://tinyurl.com/magda777 - part 2 here:https://tinyurl.com/egypt777 + part 3 here:https://tinyurl.com/israel777 }

When my flight finally landed, the gentle frequency of the Mediterranean welcomed me back. I was in Marseille, in the South of France. It was my 3rd time in France, but I’d last left it’s embrace when I was 14, and I was eager to be back.

It was winter in France, and a stark contrast from the hot lands I’d spent my last few months in. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I’d just entered a 5 week period of introspection and isolation. I found it a lot harder to meet people in the cold weather, when everyone just wanted to rush about, and get to the warm halls of where they were going to. I also chose to stay in apartments, rather than any hostels for those weeks. Apparently, my soul knew I needed to incubate.

And so, I spent my days alone, wandering french streets, spellbound by centuries old buildings, charming details, towering cathedrals, and hints of the Magdalene, everywhere.

After that, I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going.

And so I searched online, for sites that were known to be steeped in the Magdalene frequency. My search lead me to the city of Avignon, which was supposed to be close to a cathedral devoted to Mary Magdalene, as well as an ancient cave, that she was said to have spent her last 30 years in.

When I arrived in Avignon, and did more research, it turned out, the locations I wanted to visit were hours away. I had a decision to make. Did I vouch for not spending more money (I’d already prepaid for my apartment in Avignon), and stay in my cozy flat? Or did I grab a train, and then a bus, to the location I felt really drawn to? I felt Magdalene calling - pulling me. And so, I left most of my things in my Avignon apartment, and went on a mission through the frigid air, to the sacred sites that were drawing me in.

During that time, I remember feeling extremely uncomfortable. Unsafe. I didn’t know why.

I thought, maybe it’s the weather? I didn’t have the right clothes, after packing for European summer, and the Middle East. I was cold all the time. Even after buying more layers. But later on, I knew. Months later, in an Ayahuasca ceremony, I’d remembered that when I was a girl of 9, in France, I’d watched my mother being burned at the stake for being a witch. So even though France felt like home to me, I was fearful the whole time I was there. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t OK.

But I kept on with my mission. Even though I felt fear, I also felt a deep sense of communion. And so, I traveled many hours to the small town that was home to the Magdalene cathedral.

The morning I got to the charming town, I went in to a cafe, and drank a latté, in the sun. It was a moment of deep gratitude and peace, after my cold, uncomfortable journey.

I usually never drink coffee. Or alcohol. But France had me drinking lattés in quaint cafes. It had me sipping red wine. It had me buying lingerie. It had me flouting red lipstick. And it had me drinking said red wine, while wearing said red lipstick, dancing around in said lingerie, all by myself, in my rented flats. It has that effect on you, France. But anyways, I digress. Back to latté drinking me in a sunny cafe.

As I sat there, enjoying a happy moment, I got out my phone to find out how to get to Magdalene’s cave. I thought it would be a walk, as online it said it was close to her cathedral, which I knew was in town. Turns out ‘close’ meant a 45 minute drive. Some more digging revealed that there was no bus there, I’d have to rent a car, or get a taxi, as the only means there. At this point I was kind of sick of spending extra money. Europe’s not cheap, and I had a budget to stick to. I’d just paid for more accommodation when I'd already rented another apartment.

And now I was confronted with 1.5 hours in a taxi, totalling another 100 or so euros. I had a moment of “Do I go?”

Seriously, the things lack consciousness makes you question. But that question didn’t last long. The answer was - "Obviously". At this point, I felt like I was really going through some loops here, to get to this cave. I felt myself inside an initiation. Things weren’t flowing super easily, but I was determined. (Also I could have done more research beforehand, but that is besides the point haha)

And so - the initiation continued. I asked my waiter for cab numbers. I called them all. I was in a small french town, with no major taxi company. I was just given first names. And in my not-fluent-but-pretty-good french, I asked every single taxi driver if they could take me to the cave. “No”, “No”, “No I don’t have time”, “Im not even in the town right now” - were the answers I got. Finally, after much determination, I found someone who would take me.

When my taxi driver showed up, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was ready to go. I would get to the cave.

As we spoke on the way there, he told me his wife was a guide for Sacred Magdalene sites. He knew a lot about Mary Magdalene, and about the more mystical side of her story - the one the Catholic church didn’t teach. We talked about Jeshua and Mary’s daughter, Sarah, as I listened to his perspective on the Magdalene. Unfortunately, I couldn’t understand everything he was saying, as we were speaking in French, but most of his stories, got through. I couldn’t help but marvel at the synchronicity, of finding my like-hearted taxi driver.

Once we got to the base of the site, he told me he’d return for me in 3 hours. He pointed out the path I was to take, and then, I was off, climbing a snowy, icy mountain, with my devotion guiding me onwards.

I listened to my Magdalene songs as I climbed the path. I wanted to be in the frequency, as much as possible. When I finally got to the top of the small mountain, after lots of slipping and sliding on the icy path, I felt silence wash over me.

I made it.

Because most tourists come in the summer, I had the cave to myself most of the time I was there. The cave had been set up a little bit like a church, but with all the natural walls still in tact.

And so - I sat. I just meditated the whole time I was in there. I spoke to Mary Magdalene. I had visions of my time in the cave being this deep psychedelic journey full of visions and a fully focused heart - but honestly - my mind was super active. I would try to get comfy for meditation, and then feel the hard stone cold floors beneath me, which piped my mind right up. For those hours, I went in and out. Mind mind mind. And… Oh, there she is, I feel her. In the moments where I strongly felt Mary Magdalene, she delivered some messages. First, I felt her love for Jeshua. In a very human way. I felt her longing and love for him in my body, as if it was my own longing and love. It was relatable. Not some weird high in the sky disembodied love. A love from a woman, to a man she adored. And then - I felt a strong message from her. She told me: “Women’s wombs are the key to healing the planet”, along with our experience of our sexuality as sacred. Her messages seemed to largely be about being in our bodies. She told me “You’ll find me in the earth.”

When it was time to leave, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be in that cave all day, but my taxi driver was waiting for me. So I climbed down the snowy mountain. As I came to the bottom, and crossed a field to the old tavern where I was to meet my ride, a silence came over the land. I looked around and mist swirled around everything. The land. The trees. The mountain. It was one of the most mystical moments of my life.

I left full. I had committed. I had communed. I had come for a reason.

That night, I was so cold. Cold cold cold, that’s how I remember this time of my journey. The discomfort reared it’s head again. The feeling of not being safe. But I’d just downloaded a new book, that I was longing to read. So I got under the covers, in the unheated room I’d rented (Did I know it was going to be unheated? NO!) and dove in. The book was called Anna, Grandmother of Jesus.

That book was not a book.

That book was a portal to remembrance.

I couldn’t read it fast enough. As I read, I read of all the places I'd just been to, and the places I was now in. Anna told me of her life, her training as a Priestess of Isis. The light conception of Mother Mary, and Mary Magdalene. I felt so close to these beings in those moments. I felt like they were my family too. And I had a vague remembrance of communing with them, before I incarnated. Like I was very much a part of their mission, not some faraway human reading about some ancient people.

The next day, I visited the Mary Magdalene cathedral. I read the book inside the cathedral, feeling connected to Mary Magdalene, and simultaneously turned off by the Patriarchy steeped in the church. There was a skull said to be Mary Magdalene’s in that cathedral. I felt it was not. Much as I’d felt of the supposed relics of Jeshua in Jerusalem. The church tried to feign a closeness to these beings. Like they were the ones who owned them. But they can never be owned. The church's teachings have long been largely devoid of the true messages of Jeshua, Mary Magdalene, and the holy family.

In that cathedral, I saw a portrait of Anna. She looked old, kind of fat, and grey. I thought it was comical. I loved that she still had a foothold in this place, even to this day. They could try to portray grandmothers as worn out, and in the background, but Anna was none of those things. She was empowered, beautiful, and luminous. I was remembering.

My time in France continued, until my last stop before leaving back to Canada - Paris.

I’d been once before, when I was around 12. But this time was different. In my late twenties, and on my own, I discovered the city on my own terms. I loved it. I went shopping on the Champs Élysées. I ate a crêpe in front of the Eiffel Tower. I visited the Egyptian section of the Louvre, and had remembrances I’ve shared about in previous stories.

And on one of my last nights, while lying in bed, I felt Jeshua come to me. His presence floated above me, in frequencies of white and gold. And he had a message. “You will lead a circle devoted to Magdalene and Isis. The frequencies will be red and gold”. And then - he left.

And 1.5 years later, I made good on that message. It is … Temple of the Rose.

Doors to this journey, that have been in the making for a long time, close tomorrow night. I hope that if you resonate, you'll join us <3

http://www.bethkatherine.com/temple-of-the-rose

DOORS ARE NOW CLOSED XOXO

Thank you for reading my Magdalene Pilgrimage adventures. There will be many more to come...

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Meeting a Palestinian Lover in the Holy Lands...

When I was in Egypt, I met someone. It was brief. We met at a little store that sold herbal medicines from Arabia, among other magical things. I introduced myself, because I felt something. I think it was his eyes.

We went snorkelling on our first date, and spent the night making music at one of his friend’s homes. That was an incredible evening. Im a singer, and I’ve jammed with a lot of musicians. But never with Arabic musicians. From the instruments to the vocals, I felt like I’d been transported back to ancient Arabia… it was amazing. The woman who was hosting us that night turned out to be a Priestess sister, I felt Isis in her.

It was this man, that drew me to Israel. He was Hebrew, and just visiting Egypt for a short time.

{ This is Part 3 in a series, read part 1 here + part 2 here }

And so, after he'd left, and it was my time to depart Egypt, I decided to make my way to Jerusalem, and then on to Tel-Aviv, where he lived. Previously, I’d had no plans to go to Israel, but of course, this is how things go. Especially when you listen. Though it was a man that took me to the Holy Lands, I feel it was a much more ancient man underneath it all, pulling me there… Jeshua.

The morning I left Egypt, I packed all my things in my backpack, and hailed a cab to the Israeli border. The cab ride was 3 hours and allowed me to see even more of the arid mountainous landscape of Egypt’s Sinai region.

Once I crossed the border on foot, and took a bus to Jerusalem, I felt like I’d, yet again, entered into another world. It was hard to believe Egypt and Israel shared a border. The culture, the dress, the buildings, were all so different from what I'd just left.

On that bus ride, I’d had some funny feelings. And within a day or so, I understood what they were about. My Hebrew lover told me he realized he was still in love with his ex-girlfriend.

The man I’d crossed a border to see, was out of the picture. And there I was in Israel.
Ok. Perfect.
Good thing it’s magical as fuck.

So I started exploring on my own, in typical Beth fashion.

My first day in Jerusalem, I headed straight for the old city, one of the most enchanting and rich places I’d ever been.

The old city is where Jeshua and Mary Magdalene had walked through, many a time, as well as Mother Mary, and much of their family. The frequency of the place is intense. There is a potent sacred energy, as well as the messiness and shadow that comes from major religions and governments fighting for thousands of years, over a piece of land.

As I wound my way through the small streets, I passed many a shop.

It was in front of one of these shops, that sold Persian carpets, handmade scarves and beautiful fabrics, that I was stopped by a man. He was Palestinian, attractive, and fluent in English. The moment he found out I was travelling alone (most people come in groups, especially most young women) - he was insistent I let him take me out, to show me the old city.

He promised me he could show me things other people couldn’t… his family had owned shops in the old city for generations, he explained.

I told him maybe.

I still had the other guy on my mind, and he was clearly asking me out on a date. It’s not my style to get over someone by being with someone else. I like to take a week, a month, and sometimes even years if Im being honest, to clear my old feelings, before I feel ready to open up again.

And I usually say no to anyone I meet on the street, who asks me on a date.

But I wanted to be polite, and he was charismatic, so I said - maybe.

He made sure we got each other on Facebook so we could communicate.

After winding through a few more narrow streets, once I left him at his shop, I felt tired.

I sat down, and started chatting with a friend on my phone. I explained what had just happened, and through talking to her, I realized… “Im alone in Jerusalem. An attractive man whose spent his whole life here, just asked me on a date to show me things no one else could. My other alternative is to spend the night with white people at a hostel, and maybe go to a bar." (Sorry white people, I love you, I am you, but you know where Im coming from… When in Rome!) So… I decided to say yes.

I messaged the charming stranger, and he was so excited I'd agreed. He told me to meet him at a gate of the old city, when he closed the shop.

Later that night, when I went to go meet him, I was a bit nervous. But when I saw him, I felt more comfortable. He was interesting. Kind. And he had a lot of stories.

He guided me through the dark Arabian streets, most of the shops closed for the night, and up to a set of stairs, with a gate at the top. It turns out, he was taking me up to the old wall, the one that encompasses the city. Strictly off limits to tourists. Except me, apparently.

We climbed up the wall, and once at the top, I had the most amazing view of both the old city of Jerusalem, and the new. We walked around, to a beautiful spot, and my new friend to become lover, rolled a joint, and we smoked it, overlooking all of the magic. He told me about his family, about Palestine, about the hardships he’d faced, the triumphs he’d had, and lost, and about the history of Jerusalem. I was spellbound by his intelligence. His interest in things that actually mattered, like human rights, and taking care of his family.

From that night, we spent a lot of time together.

When I wasn’t with this new love, I was exploring more of Jerusalem, and it’s ancient churches. Most notably, the main Christian church, that is said to be built on the land where Jesus was crucified, and holds the apparent slab of stone, that he was laid on to rest, and arose from.

Honestly, my intuition told me none of that was true. I etherically felt another place where Jesus was crucified. When I saw the stone, that everyone was coming up to, touching, weeping at, going crazy over, my first thought was - that’s not it.

Jeshua is so sacred. I feel that. His legacy is incredible. I work with him all the time, I love him.

But I didn’t feel much of him in that cold, grey, imposing old church.

I felt control. I felt a lack of sunlight, nature, and oxygen.

And I felt a lot of people giving their power away, to a figure they were told was way above them. I felt that if Jesus was in the building, physically, he would have told the crowds to start worshipping their own damn hearts.

After that rich few days in Jerusalem, it was time to leave for Tel-Aviv. I didn’t really want to, but my accommodation had already been booked.

Tel-Aviv is a big city, with sky scrapers, and a much more modern culture. Even though Im a millennial, and was now surrounded by a music scene, hip restaurants, and shopping, I longed for the old quarters of Jerusalem.

And so I spent most of my time there in the old town, by the sea. I walked an hour everyday from my apartment to be there, and kept myself in the frequency of the ancients. My lover came to visit me while there, driving several hours just to see me for a short time. He could never spend the night - always having to return home to a strict Muslim house, where he lived, taking care of his mother.

He helped me on my healing journey with men. He drove all the way to see me, while being broke, and wouldn’t let me chip in for gas. It was a far departure from what I’d been used to.

And of course... Jeshua. I felt him. Holding frequency of the Sacred Masculine, burying his way into my life, and into my heart, in a whole new way - a far cry for the Jesus I had known in my traditional Christian upbringing.

But after not so long, it was time to say goodbye. The holy lands had ignited me. I knew I would return. But Mary Magdalene was calling me, from the shores of Southern France, and I knew I had to go…

…To be continued.