The blood mysteries, they have called to me for years. The calling felt distant, an eery echo in an old worn in cave that lived deep within my wombspace, the house of my ancestors.
I remember watching the movie "The Passion of the Christ" when it was first released in the theatre. Never mind that Mary Magdalene was portrayed as a prostitute, despite the inaccuracy of the connection between her and the prostitue in the New Testament I was glued to the two women in the film, the characters of Mother Mary and Mary the Magdalene. There were two scenes in particular that stood out to me. Watching Mother Mary run towards a falling Jesus during His long walk with His cross while the camera in slow motion flashed back to Mary running to catch a young child Jesus that was tripping and falling is one of the two scenes that has always stuck with me. The other scene that stood out to me included both Mary's and the wife of Pilot, the man who washed his hands of Jesus' fate. In this scene Jesus' bloody and torn body has been dragged away after being viscously flogged publicly leaving behind pools of blood. Pilot's wife approaches the Mary's with a handful of white cloths, silently both Mary's get down on their knees and begin to mop up the blood, when the cloth is used up they take the shawls from atop their heads and begin to soak up His blood with that. I was young in my journey when this movie came out and fresh to my 20's, as I watched alongside an avid born again Christian roommate I knew that I was witnessing something profound, something sacred.