I have not lost my voice.  Clearly my typing fingers still work too, as I continue to tap away about intimate details in this public forum.  I experience with certain posts (such as At the Altar) something I can only liken to buyer’s remorse. Dare to publish a soul-exposing piece, then question my better judgement and resist all urges to log in and hit delete before anyone reads it.

I take my discomfort as a good sign.  If I were witching for water my dousing tool would be moving.  I sense there is a wellspring below the surface and through the words and honest sharing a rich resource may be divined.

Years ago my father shared a book with me called The Moon Under Her Feet by Clysta Kinstler.  Through Kinstler’s bibliography of history, myth and literature, she crafts a narrative of Christ through the voice of Mary Magadalene.  The read was rich with fresh perspectives for me at the time and one idea persists to this day.

In the bible’s version of the crucifixion story, Judas accepts money from the authorities in exchange for revealing Christ’s whereabouts, then seals the deal with a kiss in the ultimate betrayal.

In Kinstler’s story, Judas was Christ’s twin brother, appointed the task of helping him fulfill his destiny on the cross.  It was from Judas’ deep love for his brother that he agreed to be the one to appear as though he had betrayed him with that kiss.  When in truth, he was simply playing his role in moving Christ toward his transformation.

What if I could think about a hurt that had come from the actions of someone close to me and imagine that our two souls had made some silent pact?  Between us some long-forgotten, cosmic agreement had been made to help each other as humans learn love’s greatest lessons. What if we agreed that one of us were going to do something that seemed the very opposite of loving?  It was going to look bad, it would certainly feel painful.  But the greater truth was that this betrayal was necessary in order to grow. The hurt inflicted would ignite the fire that would raise the phoenix from the ash.

One step beyond forgiveness, this perspective (real or imagined) can actually create a gratitude towards the one that ‘did me wrong.’  There never was transgression.  Every one played their part in the story to perfection.  How radical is that?

Just like that dousing tool pointing me towards water where it looks like only land, I trust that beneath the surface of my Judas there is a spring just waiting to be tapped.