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In the spirit of the season I’m going to spin my take on the immaculate conception. If you are easily offended then I suggest moving on.
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Life was tough in Nazareth. Mary by modern standards was untouchable as the summer storms began to change their tone. They stopped being loud; they became curious. A pulse in the rain, like something watching.
Mary had just returned from visiting her cousin Elizabeth to share with her a troubling dream about an Angel visiting her. As she settled in for the night, she conceded her supper would be spent alone. Joseph, her betrothed, at the Cantor’s home crafting a table as services for their coming nuptials.
The cottage walls breathed with the heat; thunder rolled far away like a cat stretching. She stood by the window, feeling the air press against her skin — thicker, charged, almost tasting of metal and fruit.
A sudden gust extinguished the candle flame on her bedside as the wind itself changed direction, curling through the room as if guided by purpose. It swept the curtain around her body; the linen clung to her hips, her breasts. She gasped — half shame, half wonder — as the invisible force gathered itself, forming a warmth at her back, an outline of breath and power.
“Do you know my name?” the wind asked, not from outside but inside her mind.
She shook her head, but the answer was obvious. Every child in the valley knew the tone of authority when Yahweh spoke.
His presence was touch without hands — air that brushed every nerve, trembling over her. The storm’s rhythm moved through her body like a tide, thrusting repeatedly against her loins with such force. She could feel her heartbeat racing to match it. It wasn’t pain; it was surrender, discovery. She arched her hips into the heat, feeling the line between herself and the divinity blur until her whole body was the storm.
She moaned, “Yes! Yes!”, over and over though she didn’t know to what she was agreeing to.
The Lord’s current surrounded her, deepened, and for a dizzy, impossible moment she felt filled with the sky — every muscle alive, every sound drowned in electric hum. Pleasure turned to awe so complete it frightened her, yet she wanted more of it, wanted it to never end. The air caught fire around her and filled her. She felt impossibly airtight as she gasped for oxygen as the passion uncontrollably radiated from inside her, bright and liquid, leaving behind a stillness that glowed.
When the candles relit themselves, she was alone again, trembling, her lips coated and tasting of rain. Outside, the storm had passed. Inside, the world was forever different.
Later, when Joseph came back from his artistry and touched her cheek, she looked at him with quiet fondness. She whispered to him…. “I am his handmaiden”. He said we will speak of this in the morning. For now he held her tight, knowing what was inside the woman he loved. She laid her head on him as the lightning still flickered behind her eyes.
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