The Mystery of Martha

By Eliza Harrison

Two timelines, one truth . . . 
Two women, two millennia apart with seemingly unconnected lives – one from the Lake District in England and the other from Bethany in Palestine. Both experience loss and betrayal, which engender feelings of fear and uncertainty about what their future holds.  
Martha from the Lake District faces challenge and change in 2000 AD as her deepest insecurities are exposed. But supported by her partner Ben, she discovers the mystical Aramaic teachings of Yeshua that offer her a pathway to Self-realisation and freedom.
In 30 AD Martha of Bethany has Yeshua as a friend and guide. From a place of tenderness and vulnerability, she witnesses the last three years of his life as he embodies the ultimate mystery and power of love, which inspires her own journey to awakening. 
These two stories weave together seamlessly until finally they converge in a hauntingly beautiful tale of revelation and redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Sep 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781838599812

Eliza Harrison

Eliza Harrison has explored many spiritual pathways and in 1998 founded a Meditation Centre in the Yorkshire Dales to bring together those of different faiths. She has also worked as a photographer and author, producing books on rural life in Northern England and writing her own story In Search of Freedom – One Woman’s Journey.

Book preview

Contents

Acknowledgements

Character list for 30AD

The Ocean

The Meeting

Esthwaite Farm

The Olive Grove

Bethania

Shalu

Diverging Paths

Maryam

The Slaughter

The Invitation

Return from Egypt

Sierra Nevada

The Wood

Magdala

New Friends

The Temple

The Friary

Nadab

Realisation

Truth

Reaction

Bethzatha

I Am

New Beginnings

Buttermere

The Crucifix of Love

The Caravan

Shifting Realities

Hannah

At Home

Talitha

A Way of Love

New Direction

Into the Cave

Lack of Trust

Charlotte

Glastonbury

Into the Dark

New Challenges

Death

Rebirth

Salim

Betrayal

Ma'at

Whisperings

To Spain

Sainte Baume

A Change of Heart

Yehudah Ishq'riyot

Plumbing the Depths

Bella

Into Yerusaleim

Ben's Nadir

A Last Supper

The Vigil

Dawn Meditation

The Place of the Skull

Via Dolorosa

The Tomb

Al-Eizariya

The Mystery of Love

Farewell to Bethania

Galilee

Setting Sail

To England

The Blessing

Men an Tol

The Holed Stone

The Isle of Avalon

Tarascon

The Beast

The River

Saint Herbert's Island

Epilogue

About the author

What inspired me to write the book

Acknowledgements

My deepest gratitude goes to Neil Douglas-Klotz for allowing me to use his translations from Aramaic into English of the Peshitta Bible, so pivotal to this story. I am also indebted to Padma Aon who in recent years has been the instigator behind my search and ideas for this book. Thanks too go to my dear friend Rachel Lebus who has supported and encouraged me in countless ways over many years; and to my family and friends who have travelled with me on my journey sharing their love and understanding.

But above all without my brother-in-law Professor Tony Davies, Martha’s story would never have been told. He has guided and steered my course with insight, clarity and gentleness, always encouraging me to delve deeper into mystical truths. And lastly, love and gratitude to my husband David for his unwavering patience, support and understanding while I’ve been writing and researching The Mystery of Martha.

Character list for 30AD

The Mystery of Martha

is dedicated to all those unknown people who seek to change themselves instead of others and thereby raise the consciousness of humanity and bring Light to the world.

The Ocean

2000 AD

There was not a soul in sight as Joe had gone ahead to check the route. Seeing a shoelace undone, she squatted down to tie it so never saw the rogue wave approaching. Suddenly she was lifted off her feet, engulfed in swirling water and swept off the rocks into the sea.

She flung out her arms attempting to grab onto something… anything, but within moments she was being tumbled in the surf with all sense of direction gone. Emotions flooded through her – terror, bewilderment and a sense of utter hopelessness. All she could see was an explosion of bubbles as round and round she went with no chance to think what to do. Each time she managed to get her head above water, another wave tossed her, obliterating her view of the headland and any chance of reaching it. One moment she was frantically waving her arms in an attempt to attract attention, and the next she was trying to swim to the shore, aware of the risk of currents carrying her further out to sea. But with every move she made, the more exhausted she became and as her strength began to fail, the more alone she felt. Had Joe not seen her? Would he be in time to help? Or was she to be swallowed up by the ocean? Feelings of desolation and despair overwhelmed her. Was this the end? Never to see her children again. Where were they now? She was just a minuscule dot in the vastness of the ocean with no one knowing of her plight.

In one last effort, she took a deep breath, then another, and as she did she felt a shift occur. Instead of resisting, she began to accept her situation and the feeling of panic abated. The word surrender flashed across her mind and she began saying it again and again. She did not know to what or whom, but her fear was replaced by an impulse to survive. She felt looked after, protected and believed that somehow rescue would come. The more deeply she breathed, the more she was able to let herself move with the sea, allowing herself to ride the peaks and troughs and dive through the waves as they broke. Instead of looking for the headland, she turned to the horizon and saw a new series of waves gathering strength that were bigger and more powerful than those before. She watched and waited and when the first one approached, she gave herself up to it allowing its momentum to take her inshore. Within seconds she felt her body being dashed against the rocks.

With all the strength she could muster, she dug her fingertips into any crevice she could find, locked her body against the rock and clung on until the wave withdrew. As the water sucked away, she knew she had little time to act. Without looking back, she pulled herself up the rock face, feeling her skin scrape against its jagged edges each time she moved. And when she reached more level ground, she limped across to the cliff face as fast as she was able. Her goal was a narrow, earthen path that led to the top. Holding on to tufts of grass to help herself up, she reached a sandy hollow and collapsed in exhaustion and relief.

She was alive, she could breathe and the air tasted sweet. The rocks and surf now seemed so far away. All was quiet, with no thought or feeling intruding. There was only spaciousness and peace. Everything around her was bathed in stillness – the stones, each grain of sand and even the ocean itself. And she was a part of it all, connected to the infinite silence from which all activity arose, beyond any boundary of time and space. There was only calm, exquisite beauty and a deep welling up of love.

She had no idea how long she lay there before she saw Joe peering down at her. He looked pale and in shock.

‘I’m alright,’ she reassured him.

‘I never realised. One moment you were there and the next you’d gone. I saw the wave but I was near the cliff so it never got me.’

He took her hand to help her up, wincing when he saw her body covered in blood from cuts and lacerations.

‘I don’t feel any pain,’ she said quickly.

‘We’ll have to get you patched up. Can you get on my back?’

Joe was lithe and strong, used to gathering sheep and handling stone. But as she straddled her legs around his back and arms around his neck, it felt strange to feel his skin against hers. How long had it been since they had been intimate together? Her wounds stung so it was a relief to get to the beach. Sunbathers and swimmers quickly gathered around, concerned by the spectacle of two figures covered in blood.

‘It’s my wife who needs help,’ Joe said quickly.

It was evening when Martha left hospital stitched and bandaged with a warning that she might be left with some minor scars. But her face was unscathed and she felt only gratitude that she had survived. Over the next few days she encouraged Joe to go off and explore the island, while she rested in the shade of an olive tree. She sensed that change was afoot and was being granted this time for a reason.

The Meeting

Martha had hoped a week away would bring her closer to Joe. They had made a habit of going on holiday in winter when the farm was quiet. This time it was the island of Lanzarote that drew them, where she could swim and Joe could try out new climbing routes. All she had wanted was to lie on the sand, feel its warmth and allow the turmoil of her mind to quieten. Hosting guests, helping on the farm and coping with inclement weather had become the entire focus of her life. By the time they arrived home, the cuts and abrasions were beginning to heal, but tension in her back was locking up her neck. She kept telling herself the pain would pass, but instead it became more acute so called a friend for help.

‘I know a therapist who’ll sort you out. He’s skilled and sensitive and good at releasing tension.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Ben Richardson. He runs his practice from Portinscale so you don’t have far to go.’

As Martha sat in the waiting room admiring the lights on the Christmas tree, she overheard a low, resonant voice saying: ‘I can’t see her now… there’s not enough time.’

The pain was severe and Martha felt a momentary pang of despair. How was she going to cope with a family gathering at Christmas when she could barely move her head? But more than that, it was the feeling of rejection that had always left its mark of anguish. She heard more muttering, then a tall, dark-haired man appeared in the doorway, who looked more Mediterranean than someone from a village in the north of England.

‘Come through,’ he said, muttering something about needing more time for a new patient. But for Martha it was irrelevant. Her only concern was that she was seen and got better.

Few words were spoken. There was no need. He could pinpoint accurately the place where the pain originated. But more than that, he knew she was hurting throughout her whole being.

‘It would help if you closed your eyes.’

And so it did. Gentleness and reassurance radiated through his strong, sensitive hands. He handled her head, neck and shoulders as though he were a sculptor, shifting energy, releasing strain, communicating compassion and concern. Martha was being offered sanctuary by someone who cared.

Through this brief encounter, the colour of Martha’s life changed. Shafts of rose-gold light broke through the grey northern skies and she felt uplifted by their glow. All because she had received empathy and understanding, which had been missing for so much of her life. Each session with Ben became a time out of time. Cocooned in a bubble of stillness, she allowed her mind to drift off to another plane. It was like being in a void, suspended in space, waiting and wanting more, offering herself up for healing on another level. And she knew these moments would nourish her for months to come.

After a few treatments, her neck freed up so there was no need to see Ben again.

‘So I don’t have to come back?’ Martha confirmed.

‘No, you should be alright now.’

Graciously he opened the door, relieved she was better. But Martha felt dismissed. Looking away to conceal her emotion, she mumbled words of gratitude before heading out into the rain. So that was it. A dream that had sustained her for a couple of weeks was over. Would she ever see him again? There was no reason to. She felt cut off and alone. To have and then not to have, to experience connection in the way she had done and then for it to be taken away. It was like the end of a love affair that never was.

She hurried back to the car, sank into the seat and allowed the tears to flow. But these were no ordinary tears. They were tears of a lifetime, triggered by a touch of tenderness from someone she scarcely knew.

A sense of duty had dominated so much of her life, which had made her keep feelings hidden for so long. Now all she wanted was to reach out to them, listen to their lament and acknowledge for the first time the profound sadness that was there. Was this the true Martha? Was she not the out-going, supportive wife and mother who was always there for family and friends? No. She was an ordinary woman who had a dread of rejection and there was no one to whom she could turn for help. So as she drove into the farmyard, her mask went back on.

‘Is your neck sorted?’ Joe asked.

‘Yes I’m fine,’ she said smiling. ‘I don’t have to go back.’

Esthwaite Farm

Martha knew that so much of her life had become an act, a never-ending performance that changed according to whom she was with. Joe was so different from her. Someone who took life at face value, was down to earth, and others relied upon including her. He had been her rock of support since they had first met when Adam was two years old. She had yearned for stability, a home to bring up her child where she was no longer the subject of abuse and attack – and Joe was gentle and kind. But now she realised the extent to which she had sacrificed her ideals for his, pursued his passions instead of hers, and allowed herself to become locked into a pattern of acquiescence in order to maintain harmony in the family home. But now no husband, friend or newfound quest could satisfy the hunger that was gnawing away at her. She wanted to break free from the constraints that confined her and discover the secrets of her heart.

Twenty years had passed since she had left London. It had been a necessity. Not only had she feared for her own safety but Adam’s too. She could not trust his father when he lashed out in uncontrollable rage. It was a brief, intense affair with the lead singer of a band. Martha was captivated by his guitar skills, cool demeanour and flattering attention. But one moment he could be funny and flirtatious and the next he was blaming her for anything that displeased him. She did her best to calm him, but this could make him worse. At which point he would grab the nearest object, be it a vase or dish of vegetables and hurl it across the room. Her refuge was the local library, where she pored through books looking for places to escape and it was the hills of northern England that drew her. Rents were cheap and there was work in hotels, cafes or bars. So when a small terraced cottage in Keswick became available, she did not hesitate in taking it.

Surrounded by mountains, lakes, woodland and streams, every spare moment she spent outdoors. But soon the course of her life was to change again. Sitting with Adam by a packhorse bridge watching sheep being coaxed across it, a voice from behind said:

‘Are these yours?’

She turned around to see a man in well-worn jeans with tousled fair hair, holding out her sunglasses.

‘They are. Thanks.’

‘You left them on the wall. I’m Joseph by the way, but everyone calls me Joe. I farm here.’

Then he turned to Adam: ‘So what do they call you?’

‘Adam. I’m two,’ he piped up pleased to get the attention.

‘Do you want to help? We’ve got to get the sheep into those pens over there.’

Adam looked at his mother and grinned: ‘Can I?’

‘If that’s alright with Joe.’

And so their friendship began, one in which Martha felt appreciated and cared for, which allowed disturbing memories from the past to fade.

A new relationship, a new life… within months she and Adam moved onto the farm and Martha had the home she had always dreamed of. They celebrated their wedding with a village ceilidh and a year later Hannah was born. Martha adapted to her new role as a farmer’s wife with ease, quickly earning a reputation for not only being good with the sheep, but a natural homemaker and provider. She baked pies, cakes, churned butter, made yogurt and in the autumn collected berries from the hedgerows to make jam, jellies and wine. When friends dropped by, there was always a warm welcome and spread of food on the table. Martha brought colour and style to Esthwaite Farm, which lifted Joe’s spirits and made him proud.

Martha felt at home in the Lake District. There was an authenticity about the people that she liked and admired. They were open, direct, empathetic and kind, which contrasted with her hometown of Cambridge, where the world of academia felt removed and cerebral. She liked living close to land, learning about the wildlife and understanding the vagaries of mountain weather. Whether she was out on the tops in drifting snow, or pitting her strength against wind and rain, there was vitality and excitement that enriched and invigorated her.

The years were measured in terms of sheep gathers when, with dog by her side, she helped round up the hefted sheep and bring them back to the intakes – for lambing, clipping, dipping and tip time. And when she had fulfilled her duties on the farm, she spent every spare moment with Adam and Hannah helping them learn new skills, whether it was lambing a sheep, or handling a kayak on the lake.

But the time had come for her children to leave Borrowdale. Adam’s procurement of a job with the National Trust in Cornwall, followed by Hannah’s acceptance at university, left Martha wondering how life would be alone with Joe. It was one of those clear September mornings with mist lying in the valley, when they set off to take Hannah south. In many ways she was fearless, but her hazel eyes often filled with tears as she was sensitive and easily moved. She looked more pre-Raphaelite than a child of her time. When they arrived at her lodgings, the accommodation reminded Martha of boarding school, with characterless rooms that looked more like boxes than bedrooms. Hannah sat on the bed surrounded by poly bags filled with her belongings, looking lost. Martha took her in her arms, bit back tears, and realised that Hannah’s vulnerability mirrored her own.

Over the years Joe and she had grown further apart. But she was unsure why. She wondered if it was because she feared criticism as there were times when Joe disapproved of her. It showed itself in incidental situations. Maybe she spent too long on the phone, cooked a meal he did not like, or expressed an idea that challenged him. It was difficult to know what bothered him as he took himself off under the pretext of doing a job. But underlying tension brought back memories of Adam’s father so she tried to cajole Joe out of his moods. Her refuge was her daily meditation practice, a place that no one could invade and where new ideas were born.

Meditation had been a part of Martha’s life since she was eighteen years old. In a candlelit room smelling of frankincense, her teacher asked her to close her eyes and let her attention rest on her breath. Her mind soon drifted off and from a distant place, a mantra was whispered to her that she was asked to feel in her heart. As she allowed its vibration to resonate through her, it felt as though she was travelling on its sound waves to the four corners of the Earth. And in front of her she saw multi-coloured spirals of light licking upwards like flames. Was this her true reality? Just sound and light? In the following days, it was not just the sense of joy and exhilaration that the practice brought her, but the realisation there was another world that she could access at will.

But Joe had no interest in her interior world, which was why she chose her moment carefully to voice her idea. It was always better talking to Joe about serious things when he was working as he was more relaxed. So Martha slung a bale of hay over her shoulder and they went off to do the daily round of feeding sheep.

‘I want to ask you something,’ Martha began.

‘Sounds serious.’

‘Not really. They’re looking for ideas for a redundant chapel near Keswick. I thought it could be a yoga and meditation centre, somewhere that people could find some inner peace.’

‘What do you need a building for when you’ve got all this?’ replied Joe gesturing to the hills all around them.

‘Because it rains, sometimes for months on end. I’d have to raise the money to do the place up, but everyone would be welcome.’

‘How long would it be before muddy boots walked over your floors? You and your ideas Martha,’ teased Joe.

‘But I want to pursue this one Joe. Now the children have gone, I want something that fires me up. Seems a good place to begin.’

Joe turned to her with a serious look on his face: ‘It’ll take you away from the farm Martha.’

‘I won’t let it Joe. I’ll always be there for you,’ she said trying to convince herself. ‘Caroline’s offered to help.’

‘She’s a woman with strange ideas.’

‘She’s just interested in different things.’

Caroline had Buddhist sympathies as her parents had given refuge to lamas when the Chinese invaded Tibet.

‘There’s no point in talking to me about it,’ Joe concluded. ‘I’ll never understand when you’re living in a place like this that you’re always wanting more. But I tell you Martha, if you set up some sort of spiritual centre, you’ll soon get tongues wagging.’

And she knew he was right. People would talk and their comments would be directed at her. But the challenge served to strengthen her determination to make the project succeed.

The Olive Grove

30AD

I allow my hand to brush through the leaves of the olive trees, aware of the sense of emptiness inside. But there is poignancy and beauty to this feeling as there is no pretence. Yes, it is a relief to stay with it for a while. It is only when I am alone that truth reveals itself. There is a fatigue that has always been there, that has no origin, no reason for being, yet like a shroud covers me from top to toe. As Shim’on is covered in now.

Death is never far away, but now its impact gnaws away at me. He was too young to die. It was not his time.