Saint Sara’s Final Procession to the Sea

FINDING MARY MAGDALENE BLOG SERIES.

“Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, Part 3: Saint Sara’s Final Procession to the Sea”

Originally Published: June 9, 2014

Sunday I awoke feeling as if the day before had all been a dream. Celice and I had a LUXURIOUS breakfast complete with freshly baked croissant, creamy yogurt, fresh juice, and house-made cappuccino topped with whipped cream. The proprietor of our family-run hotel was more than willing to make our stay memorable. He even offered to drive us into town, saying for him, it is only a “promenade.”

Having experienced the grand procession the previous day, I walked into town feeling light, and free of expectation. As it turned out, Saint Sara granted us the privilege to re-witness the procession, from beginning to end.

This time, we came face-to-face with the same head priest who had led the procession the previous day. As before, he was blessing the pilgrims along his processional route. Once again, he was followed by men riding atop those same beautiful white horses. The men on horseback parted the crowds, allowing the statue of the Two Marys to pass through, toward the sea. I thought this curious that the third Mary, Our Lady Mary Magdalene, was not represented as well.

Quickly, Celice and I ran ahead, cutting through town, in an attempt to beat the head of the procession to the sea. In a matter of moments, we made it to the shore to witness the sea-bound processional ceremony unfold before our eyes.

Along their route, the priests chanted over blow horns, “Long Live Les Saintes Maries!” and “Long Live Saint Sara!” The crowd soulfully repeated the chant.

Suddenly, a waive of an other-worldly spirit took over the crowd. Time and space seemed to expand, taking me and my fellow pilgrims back to the moment the Three Marys landed upon the shores of French Gaul, greeted by our lady of honor, Saint Sara.

Entranced, I watched as the pilgrims steadily processed the Two Marys, followed by Saint Sara, into the sea. Moments later, the procession turned face, and began its march back toward the town. I turned to see that Celice and I, just as the day before, were surrounded on all sides by the riders and white horses. To me, this double experience was a clear sign that the spirit of Saint Sara was taking special care of us.

The next moments passed like a blur: Saint Sara approached me, flanked on all sides by pilgrims willing to carry her load. My body filled with the chanting of her name and my heart ached to embrace her. Suddenly, I rushed toward her and reached out my hand. One of the young women carrying Saint Sara grabbed my outstretched hand and placed it upon Saint Sara’s dress. Tears flooded my eyes as I gently backed away, feeling into the immensity of the moment.

Time stood still as I watched the procession disappear into the streets of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. In a moment of clarity, I took a tiny glass bottle, and dug it into the sand, collecting a bit of the earth that once welcomed “The Three Marys of the Sea.”

Trying to catch my breath, I turned to Celice with tears in my eyes. She pulled my hand, and off we went in the direction of the basilica.

Once there, I took myself down to the crypt. I wanted to see Saint Sara one last time. I quickly made my way to the front of the line and looked Her in the eye. She spoke words of love to my heart for having completed another piece of my soul’s journey.

Before leaving the church, I noticed numerous rose garlands descending from the ceiling. They seemed to point to a large wooden box, placed high upon the altar, delicately painted with the story of the Marys. Following the motions of others around me, I gently placed my hand upon the box, thanking the women one final time for their great love and courage.

Later, I learned the box is said to contain the remains of Mary Jacobe and Mary Salome. This led me to deduce that the reason Mary Magdalene was not “physically” included in the procession is because her journey did not end at Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. Rather, it is believed she was guided by angels to the cave of La Sainte-Baume, where she continued to pray and work in the name of Love.

Celice and I made our way to the Arles train station, the place in which we had met three days earlier. We hugged goodbye, knowing in our hearts that our time together had been a reconnection, rather than an introduction. She left for her final pilgrim site, Rennes-le-Chateau, while I remained in Arles, the city that would quickly steal my heart.

READ NEXT BLOG: The Fortified Medieval Castle of Carcassone

The Procession of Saint Sara

Finding Mary Magdalene Blog Series.

Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, Part 2: The Procession of Saint Sara

Originally Published: June 7, 2014

Celice and I awoke in excited anticipation for the day’s events, as if children on Christmas morning.

We quickly readied ourselves for the walk into town. The streets were lined with parked campers and horses stood in stalls awaiting riders. The outskirts of town were calmly buzzing with the hum of flamenco music. As we approached the center of town, we entered the festivities. There, it was packed with people: tourists, gypsies, free spirits, photographers, and those anticipating a little piece of magic.

We followed the music to discover it came from inside the basilica. 11am Mass was under way and the church was packed to the brim, reminiscent of my morning subway commute. Celice and I tried to enter, with no avail.

Suddenly, the service ended and the wall of people broke. People began to flood out of the church and onto the streets, followed by ornately robed priests. Within his orbit a priest administered blessings amongst the oldest and youngest of the crowd, softly touching their foreheads with sincerity and warmth.

Celice and I made our way into the church. The space had a quality of arid lightness to it, similar to that of the churches I remember visiting in Sicily. The church was strewn with various depictions of Saint Sara greeting the Three Marys on the shores of France. A real sense of the feminine spirit was at play in this space.

I found myself meander toward the crypt. I descended the steps, touching my hand along the arched ceiling as I entered the cavernous space below. A thick wave of moist heat enveloped me. Votive candles baring Saint Sara’s image lined the cavernous wall. The crowd of people pushed forward into the furthest-most right corner of the crypt. The ceiling was low and the temperature stifling. I lit my candle and began a quiet prayer for Saint Sara. The move toward her was a dance - or more like a shuffle - with people moving in and out. Eventually, I heard the cries of the people in the back, “Avancé! Avance!” Advance! Advance!

Steps away from Saint Sara, I pulled out my camera in time to snap a few shots of pilgrims touch their hand to Saint Sara’s face…And then, my turn. I gently placed my hand upon Sara’s anja chakra, or third-eye chakra, and then over her heart. Closing my eyes, I then placed that same hand over my own heart. I prayed that Saint Sara would deliver me a message of meaning or purpose to my life. Or at least to assure me that my search for Her, the Divine Feminine, was not in vain.

Thanking Her, I quickly left the crowded underworld for the fresh air above ground. Natural light hit my face and I found Celice, calmly preparing herself for the descent into the crypt.

I sat in meditation on the stone floor for some time. Hundreds of people meandered by, approaching Saint Sara in the crypt below for their turn at a blessing.

Reunited, Celice and I gradually made our way to the shore, resting on the sand, waiting for the event of the day.

Crowds began to gather on the rocky breeches that overlooked the center of the ritual activity. Celice and I hurried to find the perfect vantage point. Minutes stretched into eternity as we waited for the procession of Saint Sara. At last, the procession approached the shore. Celice and I preened our necks to catch a sight, any sight! “Alas,” I thought to myself, “perhaps I’ll see a splash from her dive in the Mediterranean.” Disappointed, I resigned myself to being a far observer of the main event.

Suddenly, I heard Celice call out to me, “Anna, follow me! We did not come all this way not to see Her.” We weaved our way through the crowd to find an opening along the sand. Swarms of people pushed me this way and that as Celice and I continued to move ourselves closer to the shore. Miraculously, we broke through and found ourselves at full view of the procession. The Priest came through, followed by several more clergy. And then, there she was: The Black Madonna–Saint Sara, adorned in white, and held high above the crowds, for all to admire. 

We furiously snapped photos as she passed by. There was a commotion in the crowd as the procession suddenly turned about face. The statute of Saint Sara had been submerged in the Mediterranean and would now make her return to the crypt within the basilica. The crowds pushed and shoved as a throng of men atop white horses came out of the water and lead the procession back into town. Celice and I found ourselves as if a two-person island, surrounded on all sides by beautiful white horses. And then, as quickly as it had begun, the procession receded. My head spun as I tried to process what has just taken place.

Celice looked at me, a smile spreading across her face, and said, “See, I told you. We couldn’t stay on that rock. Sara was calling us.”

That night held laughter, music, and dancing. We played and listened, losing ourselves in the passion of the place and the people. But little did I know that Saint Sara was not quite done with me.

READ NEXT BLOG: Saint Sara’s Final Procession to the Sea

The Gypsy Festival of Les Maries

Finding Mary Magdalene Blog Series.

Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, Part 1: The Gypsy Festival of Les Maries

Originally Published: June 2, 2014

As Provençal legend has it, Mary Magdalene arrived on the shores of Gaul with Mary Salome and Mary Jacobe, and possibly Joseph of Arimathea. The mystery and intrigue of this legend involves a woman named Saint Sara. Some claim she was a native of Gaul who greeted the party fleeing the Roman Empire. Others say she arrived on the boat with the Marys, either an Egyptian handmaiden to Mary Magdalene, or better yet, the secret daughter of Jesus and Mary. Either way, Saint Sara has become the patron saint of the Romani people the world round, and I was headed there for the annual festival in honor of Saint Sara.

Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer is a tiny beach town in the Camargue region of France. It is surrounded by a national park that is filled with long green grass and canals, all of which accommodate migratory birds from Africa. The feel is somewhere between American west and Spanish Conquistador.

But before I found myself in Les Maries, I first had to find a way to get there from Arles–an exquisitely BEAUTIFUL town in France. So, I made my way to the tourist office and started a conversion with another woman looking to get to the festival. As it turns out, Celice, a Venezuelan national, was also on a pilgrimage. Hers revolved around the Camino de Santiago in Spain, but overlapped with the western French sites associated with my Mary Magdalene pilgrimage. Celice and I became fast friends. In fact, we were inseparable for those few days at the festival.

Celice and I found the bus, (super easy and way cheap), to Les Maries. We chatted the whole time about our pilgrimage experiences thus far, and also about all we hoped would happen at the festival.

As the bus approached our destination, it turned out that our hotels were right next to one another. (Kind of strange for a small town with several hotels). I laughed at the synchroncity. She told me she stopped seeing our similarities and meeting in Arles as coincidences, but as something more predestined. I walked her to her hotel first, and made a plan to meet her in two hours, but she insisted on walking me to my hotel for check-in, as well.

The moments that followed were very telling of what would come: My hotel had never received my reservation and down payment from the third party site I had originally booked through. And to top it off, they were completely booked for the festival. In her fashion, Celice said, “No problem, she’s staying with me.” In disbelief, I gladly accepted her offer.

My ex-hotel invited us to their private dinner/flamenco show that night. We gleefully arrived amongst the colorful guests, and were seduced by the home-cooked food and soulful Spanish gypsy music. Gypsies from the crowd, including a family from Brazil, danced and sang, as we shared wine and a love for the beautiful music.

Exhausted, yet in anticipation for the following day’s culminating fesitval event,The Procession of Saint Sara, Celice and I returned to the hotel, hardly able to sleep a wink. For my part, I thanked my guardian angels for the new friend, and angel, they sent my way.

READ NEXT BLOG: The Procession of Saint Sara

The Relics of Sainte Marie Madeleine

FINDING MARY MAGDALENE BLOG SERIES.

“Saint-Maximin-la-Sainte-Baume: The Relics of Sainte Marie Madeleine”

Originally Published: May 31st, 2014

I arrived in Saint-Maximin-la-Sainte-Baume with a pep in my step. I had just an hour to experience the Magdalene presence there before returning my car in Aix-en-Provence.

First, I decided to find a pastry to enjoy with my morning coffee. As luck would have it, I walked into the best artisinal patisserie in all of France! The shop was full of beautiful meringues adorned with pines nuts and delicate-looking tartes. My stomach only wanted a pain-au-chocolat, but my eyes feasted on them all. I walked across the way to a sidewalk cafe and ordered a cafe creme, which tasted somewhere like a caffè latte. After an exquisite moment of cafe life à la française, I was off in the direction of the basilica of St. Maximin.

St. Maximin has at its medieval core a basilica that is seemingly basic from the outside…that is until you enter, unsuspecting, through its doors. Prepare yourself to be dazzled by the glory of its grandeur in praise of the Magdalene. Walking into the large, dark, and cavernous space, I felt as if I was entering the underworld or perhaps the womb of Mother Earth.

I was mesmerized by the magnificent stained glass windows at the front of the church. The rays of the sun hit the windows and illuminated the “underworld” interior of the church. As I admired the way the light from the outside world lit up the interior space, I suddenly realized why the Church constructed these sacred spaces in this fashion. These churches were built to convey such ominous darkness so that the partitioners would feel as if the priest, who stood completely illuminated by the rays of the sun, was their only hope for salvation.  

AHA! I thought. The church was the first indoor theater house! They created a spectacle of heaven and hell right before the public’s eyes; complete with a psychological and spriitual sensation of purgatory.  

After this realization, I found myself nearly back where I started. That is, until I turned toward the central pews, and saw it: the staircase that led to the crypt and the skull of Mary Magdalene. Touching the arch above my head, I cautiously descended the staircase, into the depths of the basilica.

The small crypt contained Christian artifacts protected by glass on all sides. Hidden behind thick glass and a golden iron gate, was the blackened skull of Mary Magdalene. It was encased in glass and adorned with stiff golden hair, and some sort of “ancient” outfit. I looked into where her eyes would have been, and thought it so strange that this skull was kept and honored in such a way. Whether it actually Mary or not, we may never know. I bowed my head in respect for Magdalene, and left the mysterious chamber. 

St. Maximin and La Stainte-Baume had shared qualities that I felt drawn to: an energy; a presence; a reverence for a person who showed such love, compassion, devotion, and strength, and taught this to the world through her actions.

I left the basilica and traveled down the tiny streets of St. Maximin. On the way I passed souvenir shops, bakeries, and eye glass stores–the French love their eye glasses. I found my car and went onward for Aix-en-Provence. Before nightfall, I would be in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer for the annual gypsy festival honoring Saint Sara. This proved to be my biggest adventure yet!

READ NEXT BLOG: Les Saintes Maries de la Mer, Day 1

The Anointed

FINDING MARY MAGDALENE BLOG SERIES.

“THE GROTTO OF LA SAINTE-BAUME, PART 2: THE Anointed”

Originally Published: May 29th, 2014

I awoke with excitement on my final full day at La Sainte-Baume. However, the night had not been kind to me; I had been kept up by the loud talking and banging of doors by private school teenagers, staying at the Hostellerie for an extended school field trip. After 9 PM class ended, the teens liked to play loud American music, laugh and play. The monastery had a policy of quiet hours after 10 PM, which the kids clearly didn’t observe, and I wondered why the school found it necessary to bring the kids to the Hostellerie when most did not care to be there. When, clearly, there were serious spiritual seekers longing to have a peaceful and connected experience. :)

That aside, I had a job to do. I gathered my crystals and stones, and picked a single poppy in the field for Mary, gently setting it in the folds of my scarf. As I looked up toward the cave, hidden behind a heavy mist, I wondered what Mary had in store for me.

The climb was challenging. I thought maybe because I had made the trek twice the day before. Either way, I made it to the top, and again went directly to my statue of Mary. I didn’t know what I was going to do, so I allowed my intuition to lead the way. I lit a candle and set it before the statue. I took my stones - both from my home in NYC and the few I collected from the ancient forest - and ran them over the flame and then touched them to Mary, and finally myself.

I found some paper and wrote a note of gratitude to Our Lady Mary. I set it comfortably with the poppy, next to the many other notes of respect, curled up beside the statue.

Mary spoke to my heart and I knew in that moment my job was done at La Sainte-Baume. I stood up and reached over to gently touch the statue one last time, when at the exact moment my hand touched her, a drop of water fell from the cavernous ceiling, and landed directly on my third eye. “I’ve been ANOINTED!” I nearly screamed out loud. Laughing to myself, I knew Mary had given me this gift.

I prepared to descend the mountain and had a feeling of accomplishment, thinking: had this been the only site I visited in France, my pilgrimage would have been complete.

As fate had it, I was not quite done with La Sainte-Baume. At several communal meals, I had sat near a luminous woman with bright blonde hair, and one blue feather dangling from her ear. Chris was her name, and she was a Reiki practitioner and Shaman. As I was walking out the main gate leading to the cave, I saw Chris, walking-stick in hand, wrapped in a deep purple robe. We smiled and finally began a conversation. Chris spoke absolutely no English, but due to our shared passion we were able to communicate deep truths about Mary and the workings of the universe. I left Chris to have her moment with Mary knowing in my soul I had connected with my Kindred Spirit!

Later that afternoon I decided to make the hike to the cave once more, in case there was anything I missed. The atmosphere from the lingering mist gave the cave and it’s surroundings an other-worldly feel. I sat just outside the cave, happy for those last few moments.

The following morning, it was time for me to depart. I brought my books on Mary Magdalene to breakfast, in order to show them to Chris and her companion. She and I discussed our personal cosmology and healing modalities. 

Jean, mother of Marie, had strongly urged me to speak to the Brothers about Mary, saying it would give me grace. Unsure, yet, wanting to follow her advice, I knew I needed to find a way to do this beyond the way of confession.

So, at the end of my stay, with my new friend Axel, we asked a Brother about a mysterious pillar at the entrance of the forest, that appears to be of Free Masonry origin. He explained that they don’t know where the pillar came from but that many people come to La Sainte-Baume for several reasons: to pray to Mother Earth, to pray to a Sacred Feminine, or to leave gratitude for the woman closest to Christ. I told him I thought that it was beautiful that they accept all people with varying beliefs at the Hostellerie. And above all, I felt, that the driving principle behind Mary Magdalene is Love. And he countered, “But what is love?” Without thought, I responded, “God. God is love.” And he told me that it is a point of research for people, to meditate and pray on the meaning of Love.

With that, I packed up and left the Hostellerie. Excited to reacquaint myself with my English-accented GPS guide, I set the route for Saint-Maximin-la-Sainte-Baume, and the supposed relics of Mary Magdalene.

END NOTE: Of course there were MANY others along this path to La Sainte-Baume that went unmentioned in my blog: Sapine, the Austrian energy worker and spiritual seeker; the three older fellows, who invited me for a drink and a conversation “en Franglais;” the two women, who taught me how to request a quiet room: “Je veux une chambre au calme;”  two reiki practitioners, who critiqued how “practical France has become, to even consider using Reiki in a hospital setting is unthinkable;” Axel, the German physicist with an interest in the Magdalene legends; and the countless others, whose very presence made Mary come alive at that quiet outpost of La Sainte-Baume.

READ NEXT: The Relics of Sainte Marie Madeleine

Lessons in Regeneration

🌺Last weekend I enjoyed a magical Journey to the Goddess at the Marian grotto shrine and grounds in Portland, OR. I had begun my journey feeling particularly disheartened by the state of the Amazon. Although I already had plans to visit her, it suddenly felt vital to reconnect with the goddess. After all, Regeneration is the primary principle of the Great Goddess and each goddess form she takes on represents an aspect of the regenerative cycle. 🌺Regeneration is the principle of life that cycles thru birth-growth-degeneration-death-rebirth. According to ecofeminist Vandana Shiva, “regeneration lies at the heart of life” and the ecological perspective honors all life as intrinsically valuable. Ecology sees living systems as inherently co-collaborative, self-organizing, naturally diverse, self-sustaining, and self-healing, hence fundamentally regenerative. If given the opportunity to regenerate, nature will do so. This will also take courage, and perhaps humility, for us humans to remember our place within the regenerative cycle as one system co-existing within the whole Gaian-Earth ecosystem. 🌺I see this Marian image to exude the life-giving and life-sustaining symbolism of the cycle of regeneration. Her shrine, deeply embedded within a cave—another feminine symbol connected to the womb—is a remembrance of the vital connection between ecology / environmentalist and the manifestation of the feminine principle in the world. Perhaps if we genuinely remember and nurture the feminine principle of Regeneration, we too can be a part of the healing of the Amazon. 🌺”Biopiracy: The Plunder of Nature and Knowledge” by Vandana Shiva. 🌺Photo cred. to the lovely Amber Revoir. #thegrottoportland #regeneration #divinefeminine #journeytothegoddess#ecology #mary #healtheamazon #vandanashiva #earth @ The Grotto Portland

Walking the Labyrinth

Spent a lovely afternoon exploring Bainbridge Island with friend and colleague of all things matristic and goddess-oriented, @jessicaspringweappa The secret Labyrinth was definitely a magical moment. The journey to the goddess often takes us through the unknown, seemingly nonsensical, winding pathways of the labyrinthine womb. Despite the moments in which I have desired to give up (on writing my dissertation), the wisdom of the labyrinth gently reminded me: Keep going, keep generating, keep growing. Thanks for the adventure, Jessica!😘#labyrinth#womb #goddess #goddesswisdom #bainbridgeisland @ Bainbridge Island, Washington

Journeying to Empress Theodora

So this week, I took a journey—not to the goddess—but to the Byzantine mosaics depicting Empress Theodora in Ravenna. Theodora was married to Emperor Justinian I, who ruled the Eastern Roman Empire during the 6th c. Due to her intelligence and political savvy (and legend has it, her beauty as well), she held considerable power for a woman at this time. This particular mosaic is placed opposite her husband’s and next to the central image of Jesus at the head of the Basilica. My experience there was awe-inspiring—not only because of the timeless beauty of the sacred space itself, but also because I felt as if I was somehow in the presence of Empress Theodora. #empresstheodora #ravenna #byzantine #divinefemininepower#femaleleaders @ Basilica di San Vitale