āI should have assumed with parents known to the world as Mary Magdalene and Jesus Christ, I would be different.ā
It is not her lineage that makes Sara different. It is her ability to time travel forward into other peopleās bodies.
Sara, whose Aramaic name means ābringer of happiness,ā is desperate to control her destinations in the hope of rescuing Sarah-Marie, a young Cathar, from the 13th Century siege at MontsĆ©gur. Sara is convinced saving Sarah-Marie will safeguard her motherās teachings. She believes this is her destiny.
The Bringer of Happiness is a compelling (almost) true tale comprised of history, myth, and imagination. Our histories are becoming unstuck, and the patterns of power through religion are shifting, making way for new narratives. This book is part of this process.
āI should have assumed with parents known to the world as Mary Magdalene and Jesus Christ, I would be different.ā
It is not her lineage that makes Sara different. It is her ability to time travel forward into other peopleās bodies.
Sara, whose Aramaic name means ābringer of happiness,ā is desperate to control her destinations in the hope of rescuing Sarah-Marie, a young Cathar, from the 13th Century siege at MontsĆ©gur. Sara is convinced saving Sarah-Marie will safeguard her motherās teachings. She believes this is her destiny.
The Bringer of Happiness is a compelling (almost) true tale comprised of history, myth, and imagination. Our histories are becoming unstuck, and the patterns of power through religion are shifting, making way for new narratives. This book is part of this process.
Ā I should have assumed with parents known to the world as Mary Magdalene and Jesus Christ, I would be diļ¬erent. Our individuality emerges at the junction between universality and uniqueness. Our parents guide us to this merge, which is comprised of a multitude of discrete moments existing in a state of perpetual collision, then abandon us to fend for ourselves. This chaos inspires the Moirai ā the three sisters of Fate, in their selection of layering yarns to weave the tapestry of our life. Each thread is a moment consisting of options, judgments, and tests to ascertain the nature of our identity. The diversity of moments out-number the ļ¬eas on a feral Egyptian dog.
Moments are accused of being random. On the contrary, they are passages of time laden with destiny. Moments oļ¬er choice; a split decision to avert disaster or create it. A teetering moment hinged on a precipice of uncertainty unfolds in slow motion the devastation of a landslide, or passes in a ļ¬icker, barely registering a missed or otherwise lucky opportunity. Moments may strike, leaving bruises in their wake, or cause the merest of ripples. Sneaky moments provide distractions for other moments to creep up unawares. Whatever their guise, never forget moments carry messages from the gods.
From the myriad moments shaping my life, three are significant. The ļ¬rst announces itself through an idle awakening, as if I am a plump lamb on a rotisserie, heating from pink to brown to charcoal. Swathed within my hammock I watch the ceiling approach. Too close. But it is not the ceiling looming in for a better look. Without forewarning, I ļ¬oat and hover above my ļ¬eshy form still encased in my hammock. It is fun. At ļ¬rst, I ļ¬oat out of my body, but later I wake up in other people. This diļ¬erence separates me from my peers. I would be the Ulysses of my generation; except I have no generation.
Stories splice moments and memories together providing a sense of cohesion when recalled from the past. Herein lies a subtle nuance of my diļ¬erence. My stories come from the future. I am a swaddled babe in a hammock and my memories are future moments yet to be lived. It is not remarkable I travel forward in time or inhabit bodies. What is noteworthy is my capacity to remember. This should not be too diļ¬cult to accept, being in the year 34 AD, everything lies before me. My second notable moment is the opposite of my ļ¬rst. I have to hunt it out. It is evasive, secretive, hiding in the shadows. It calls, beckoning me. It is an enigma. When ļ¬oating, I almost grasp it, yet it belongs to my body, not spirit. It is my destiny.
As I heed my call and follow my path through wildļ¬owers of choice, I pluck the brightest blooms searching for clues, asking: why am I here? What is my purpose? But everything is ambiguous. I have to live my destiny rather than see it. Which is frustrating, because on one hand, my life seems spontaneous, unique, and unrehearsed, and on the other, I feel like I am playing a role and re-enacting a story I once knew but have forgotten. My destiny feels close, but I have chosen weeds. I am looking in the wrong direction.
The Moirai incorporate vibrations in their craft, and their ethereal soundtrack dances me through a labyrinth toward the centre of my being. Arriving at this third moment will reveal my Minotaur and I shall name it. Names are important.
My name is Sara. It is an Aramaic word meaning ābringer of happiness.ā Names often inscribe the life purpose of the bearer, and because this is easy to forget due to lifeās many distractions, names are a reminder of the responsibilities that lie ahead. My name implies such a role.
A singular moment: He is standing at my cradle. He wears leather sandals but prefers barefoot. Sava and Martha sit by the oil lamp sewing. He speaks and my heart melts and lightness spreads through my body. I expel my breath and hold my hands tight. I do not want to ļ¬dget. If I move, his words will seep out from under my skin, lost forever. This is the one memory I have of Papa speaking to me. My life on the other hand, is full of moments of Mama.
The Bringer of Happiness by Karen Martin follows the life of Sara, the daughter of Mary Magdalene and Jesus Christ. Saraās physical life is spent fleeing the Romans who persecute those who follow the teachings of Mary Magdalene. Her spirit, however, is able to leave her body and travel forward in time. She spends these travels trying to make sense of how both of her parentsā teachings could be so distorted and used to promote hate and intolerance. Her journey is both beautiful and sad. From her early life in Jerusalem to her travels north in search of a safe place to practice their religion, Sara is surrounded by familiar biblical characters from the new testament. She struggles to find her destiny as the child of such important and revered teachers. The teachings of Mary Magdalene described in this story are moving, and itās difficult to watch Sara try and ensure her motherās words are not lost. There is an urgency to Saraās mission as she works to control her gift for time travel without realizing that her destiny could lie in a different direction altogether.
This book is filled with unfamiliar concepts that are well-explained. Saraās surroundings and storyline are also well-described. The writing is incredibly beautiful and paints a clear mental picture for the reader. There is a scene in the book while Sara is in spirit form where she comes across a field of butterflies that is especially noteworthy. There are also several poems and (for lack of a better term) sermons by Saraās mother that contribute to the beauty of the story. History tells us that the teachings of Mary Magdalene are not widely accepted and were mostly lost, but that does not mean that the reader will correctly guess the ending of the story.
I loved everything about this book and therefore gave it the highest rating possible because of the overall concept, the plotline, and the writing. I highly recommend this story to anyone with an interest in the genre of ancient history, mysticism, and magic.