Clean Slates, Fresh Starts, New Beginnings and No History

Here’s an interesting thought: history would not exist if the same errors were not being repeated in the present.

 

Hmmm…. Gives me pause. Very profound, but I’m not sure what to do with it.

 

History would not exist if the same errors were not being repeated in the present. 

 

What that means to me is that if I live from the inside-out, in the now, there would be no history. It would be all new beginnings, clean slates, fresh starts.  No baggage, no shame, guilt, anger and judgment to drag around.  Would that be great?!

 

If I had no shame, guilt, anger and judgment – inner ways of being, the ‘same errors’, I’d have no history.

 

The inner errors occur first; I feel shame, guilt, anger and judgment then seek an explanation for those feelings projecting them onto my body, parents, the weather, teachers, and others who are not like me. This projection creates a history. If I allowed the inner feelings to just be and dissipate on their own – they came on their own, they can go on their own – instead of seeking an explanation and projecting them out, I wouldn’t repeat them in the present and would have no history. It would be all new beginnings, clean slates, fresh starts.

The Story the Bible Couldn't Tell - Betheena

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First, they had bathed her.  Temple maidens only a few years older than herself, naked but for jeweled loin clothes that barely hid their clean shaven genitals and slid suggestively into the clefts of their buttocks, disrobed her and led her to a pool of steaming water.  Betheena had never seen such large quantities of hot water before. She dipped a toe in and drew back.  The three girls waiting upon her tittered.  One of them, a lithe red-head who she would come to know as Melka, took Betheena’s hand and led her into the water.

Betheena had never, ever felt anything as satisfying as being in that pool.  The girls stood away from the pool with their backs to Betheena as she acclimated herself.  Betheena had not had an opportunity to study a naked person before and her eyes roamed hungrily over the flowing, full curves the teenage temple maidens.  Do I look like that? She wondered.

Melka turned, bent to pick up a sponge and came to sit beside Betheena in the water.  Looking deeply into Betheena’s eyes, Melka gently rubbed first Betheena’s hands, then arms with the sponge.  Betheena’s heart raced and she felt her abdomen and genital areas turn to liquid.  She groaned and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the other girl’s ministrations.

After the bath, they gave Betheena a jeweled loin cloth like theirs and led her into the presence of the Goddess.  Already in an altered state of sensual over-load, when Betheena smelled the hypnotic incense, and saw the bejeweled larger than life idol before her in the dimly lit sanctuary, she fainted - flopped to the floor.  When she awoke, it was to a vision of the bare backs and buttocks of her sister temple maidens as they prostrated themselves before the Goddess.  In a few moments, when her head cleared, Betheena joined them, prostrating herself as they did, in deep gratitude to the One who had granted her this blessing.

After a time, as Betheena’s heart ceased its racing, Melka came and led her to a dimly lit alcove with a divan and a smoking brazier from which floated the same hypnotic incense.  They sat on the floor.

“You are of royal blood, Betheena,” Melka said.  “A princess of Canaan.  It is your duty to serve Astarte, Goddess of Fertility.  The welfare of our people depends upon the Goddess’ favor.  If She finds favor in your service to Her, She will bless us with a good harvest and many children.  Do you understand?”  Betheena nodded.  “You will now dedicate yourself to Her service.  From this day forth and for the rest of your life, you will come here, to Her temple for one month each year and offer your body.  You are Her slave, Betheena, Her willing and obedient slave.  Do you understand?” 

“I am Her slave,” Betheena said dreamily and sensually, her body tingling and undulating slightly.

“Yes.” Melka stroked Betheena’s cheek, longing to take the comely virgin for herself.  “Her slave.”  She stood and reached out her hands to Betheena and when she grasped them, pulled the new temple slave to her feet.  “You will sit on this divan and wait, breathing in the incense of service, with every breath, reminding yourself that you are only a slave, here to serve whoever comes and commands you in the Goddess’ name.  Do you understand?” 

“I hear and obey,” Betheena said dreamily.

“Good, my little slave girl.  I am pleased!”

Betheena’s heart raced with joy.

“You will give yourself fully to what is asked of you,” Melka said.  “Trust the Goddess.  She will guide you.  Trust your body; your senses and feelings will guide you.  Let your mind be asleep.”  She caressed Betheena’s budding breast.  Betheena moaned.  Melka bent and kissed her nipple.  Betheena moaned from the center of her being.  Oh, what sacred sweetness, Melka thought.  Surely initiating this girl could not be a sin?

“This is love, Betheena,” Melka whispered in the child’s ear; “sacred love.  This is how you and I shall serve Astarte.  This: what we are feeling now is how we are meant to feel and how She wants us to worship Her.  You shall never know a greater, more fulfilling love, Betheena.  You are mine in the Goddess’ name!”

“Yours….”

 

The Story the Bible Couldn't Tell - Betheena

From page 22, Betheena, the mother of the Canaanite general Sisera who fights Devorah is introduced.

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In her royal suite, three stories above the Temple of Astarte in Hazor, Sisera’s mother, Betheena, peered through the palm wood lattice screening the solarium window. She longed for her son’s return, with a lover’s longing. And once again the pangs of that deep emotion bothered her. Such feelings from a mother for her son were not seemly. She had never acted on them; never even hinted at them. But ever since Sisera’s father had been killed by the Haibrus seven years ago, and Sisera had accepted the role of protector of the house, Betheena, had felt a new, deeper, almost sexual (she blushed at the admission) feeling for her valiant son.
When, two years ago, Sisera, then twenty eight had been elevated by King Jabin to command first the palace guard and then the corps of chariots, Betheena had felt her longing become tinged with worry and concern that sometimes bordered on pain. Sisera’s duties required him to be away from Hazor often, and though she was forty-four, with a comely body and the vigor of youth, Betheena kept to herself and was lonely without her son.
It need not have been that way, for Betheena was a princess of royal blood, being Jabin’s half sister, they had the same mother, also of royal blood. Perhaps the longing was in her blood, a thing passed down through the generations. Something she must simply learn to bear, a dull ache that was always present, sometimes stronger than others. Yet it did seem as if there had been a time, when she was twelve, before she’d spent her first month in the Temple of Astarte, when the ache had not been with her.
Even royal maidens offered themselves as sacred prostitutes, though they lived and served in the Temple’s inner-most courtyard, the one reserved for the great leaders of the nation.
Betheena saw a cloud of dust on the horizon, between the city’s twin guardian peaks. Sisera! Her heart leapt. Gently, she said to herself, it may not be he. Yes, gently. She studied the cloud for a moment. Her vantage point on the third floor gave her a good view. It was not a large cloud; probably not chariots, perhaps one or two riders on horseback or a small column of men on foot.
The sounds of the city drifted up to her and Betheena looked down. Across the street immediately below her were the King’s granaries. A small group of functionaries were talking over a donkey laden with sacks of grain. Tomorrow, when the grain was distributed the noise would be deafening. Behind the granaries, was the slave market, with its stalls, and pens and platforms for showings. Some few merchants were walking their human property around the stalls, exercising them. Once a week, in two days time, the market overflowed with the color, noise and spectacle of the very rich in their finest regalia, buying the very poor in rags. To the left were the public wells from which most of the noise came.
Betheena looked up. The dust cloud was dissipating. She could not see the great gate from her position, but if it were Sisera, she would hear his horse’s hooves on the street stones in a moment.

The Story the Bible Couldn't Tell

A Note from the Author

 

Devorah is a work of historical fiction, based on biblical, scholarly and archeological data. Some characters as well as names for places and things are made up to support the story and are not intended to be correct, accurate or factual. The relevant Old Testament portions are Judges, First Samuel and  Second Samuel.

One of my favorite references is Chronicles: News of the Past, Volume One, now out of print, which describes biblical events as a modern contemporary newspaper would. The book is actually printed on newsprint broad sheets to add authenticity.

 

The Bible tells us that 175 years after Moses led the Children of Israel out of Egypt, there arose a woman, Devorah, a daughter of Ephraim, to be a Judge over her people, a prophetess and a righteous example unto them. The Bible also tells us of Devorah’s  husband, Lappodoth; Barak, the great Haibru general;  Sisera the Canaanite general; Yael the Kenite, slayer of Sisera; and of Sisera’s mother, Betheena.  The Bible touches only the high points of their lives. What follows is a more complete story.

Devorah: Book One of The Covenant and the Scrolls Novels

Chapter One

“Devorah!  Devorah!  It is time.”

The young woman turned from contemplating the blossoming olive trees to face the climber intruding upon her sacred space. So soon, she thought.  I would spend more time with You, Abba. 

 Dry wind lifted Devorah’s flowing black hair, spilling it across her forehead and into her large green eyes. Arising from the soft grassy place on the rock strewn hill, Devorah adjusted the robes billowing around her.  Lappodoth, the man violating her sanctuary, had only a few cubits before reaching her.  She sighed, warmth suffusing her chest, heart still aching with devotion. 

I am always with you, daughter. 

She nodded, and whispered, “I know.  I am deeply grateful!  I rely on you so….”       This place nourished and nurtured her; gave her strength.  It wasn’t the grassy knoll on the rock-strewn hill per se, it was the hill within her: a place of deep peace she carried everywhere she went.  And, if she chose - remembered she could choose - she was able to experience it anytime, anywhere.  Here on the hill, with the crystal blue sky and windswept, puffy white clouds, choice was unnecessary as she simply experienced that exhilarating contradictory sensation of empty fullness.  

Not vacant unconsciousness, oh, no, but a fully-aware alertness, sensitive to the potential in each moment.  In this place, she was without identity, not Devorah, not a woman, nor lover, nor Sar – a Judge over Israel, but just a being: a pure, effortless being and energy incarnate.  It was the place God dwelled; was God.  In this place, when she thought, felt and acted from this place, all was well.  Outside it, life was more difficult. “Thank You, thank You, thank You!’ she whispered.  Gratitude was cause, not effect.

The Story the Bible Couldn't Tell

175 years after Moses led the Children of Israel out of Egypt, Devorah, a prophet, became the first and only female Judge to rule ancient Israel.

 

Surrounded by pagan Canaanites practicing ritual sex and human sacrifice, Devorah must find ways to maintain the Hebrews’ belief in the One God and overcome the Canaanites’ overwhelming military supremacy.

 

Devorah walks a tightrope between her personal view of the One God as a present, loving force and the prevailing view of God as a distant, punishing power. She calls the fearsome God of the temple and formal worship, the God of the Scrolls; and the benign, loving and accessible God, the God of the Covenant.

 

Devorah’s story is the first in Steve Liebowitz’ soon to be released The Covenant and The Scrolls series of novels based on these conflicting views of God and its influence on the lives of Kings Saul, David, Solomon and other Old Testament characters.

 

The Millionaire and Inside-Out

I found an excellent, inspirational example of the inside-out first approach in a review of multimillionaire, teacher, publisher Marc Allen’s new book, The Magical Path—Creating the Life of Your Dreams and a World That Works for All.  For Allen, ‘magical’ means inner—intuitive and non-rational. He suggests that readers go first to the part of the book that “calls” to them. In his own life, the magic worked for Allen when he turned within. He says he’s inherently lazy and undisciplined. His favorite yoga posture was the corpse pose. When he was in his twenties, he couldn’t hold a job and was broke, out of shape, and miserable until his thirtieth birthday. On that day he got his bloated nothingness out of the way and wrote down where he wanted to be in five years.

 

He says there’s no pressure in this ‘magic,’ just the truth, which is that the truth is within you. “Magic is the mysterious process by which something is created out of apparently nothing. It is the process that has created this entire vast universe with you and me sitting in it and pondering these words at this moment.” The magical path is shorter because it involves powerful tools for Selfawareness such as mindfulness and meditation that can work quickly. It also involves failure. But since every successful person has had at least one, there’s no sense letting the fear of failure hold you back.

 

Go ahead! Dream your dream and use the powerful age-old tools of metaphysics - the technology of inside-out: affirmations, visualizations, prayers, mantras, mindfulness and meditation – to bring your dream to fruition. “When the worlds you create in your mind connect with your heart, you create what you love.”