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When Our Virgin Mother is a girl … born of Ancient Immortals, She has no inkling She will become Queen of Heaven, that She will bear Divine Twins, that for Her own peace of mind and the sanity of the world She will separate Them, that She will inaugurate an exchange system of having one boy beside Her in Heaven and the other safely tucked inside the earth. Each cycle becomes an Age, and for each Age an alternate son rules topside while His brother reigns below.
There are so many Ages now, the Virgin has lost the thread. Never a spinning or weaving sort of goddess, She doesn’t care about it or the tapestry from which it is pulled loose.
When Our Virgin Mother is a girl … during the waning days of Ancient Immortals (granted, no one understands at the time that Their days are waning) Her dearly loved companion is a fox kit. They grow up together — an Immaculate Immortal and a ghost vixen. Together They will overturn the Ancient hegemony of Heaven and return a Great Mother to the throne first raised by Primitives. But that is another story at the end of which Virgin and Vixen go separate ways.
When Our Virgin Mother is a girl … in those sweet, pre-damage days of childhood, She dreams a cloud castle room by room. It is not a structure but a sentient habitat of old-growth towers and weeping onion domes, of voices singing inside perfumed walls, of crystal chutes and flying stairwells. Doorless chambers rotate on axes strung with ringing bells. Moveable feasts rise and fall on platters made of salt, while all the window glass is liquid rain. Cornices wink, plinths sprout, balconies grow and climb like twining ivy.
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When Our Virgin Mother is no more a girl … the damage is done and childhood lies in ruins. She crowns Herself Queen. She inhabits the Palace of Her castle at the apex of Heaven where air shines with jubilation. Immortals never quit any part of what They live, so Her girlhood recycles inside a secret annex at the compound’s far wall. Vixen is there in her single-tailed youth. Nowadays Vixen flourishes the nine tails she’s earned by merit, and they say she has out-foxed even Death.
When Our Virgin Mother is no more a girl … She is delivered of the two fruits of Her womb. She builds two apartments, both sprawling complexes. The West Wing houses Her favorite and first born, Lord Jesus. He, having recently ascended into Heaven to sit at Her right hand, is already busy ordering about the quick and the dead. The dead ignore Him. The quick can be oppositional. At Her left hand is the East Wing, lately abandoned. Her bitter son, Lord Judas, is descended into the vault of the earth where She can ignore His bellyaching.
Such a trial, both Her boys. Nobody ever warns You what Motherhood is really like.