Rooted in the One: Mary Magdalene and the Soul’s Unfolding | 05.02.2025
I didn’t set out to question the Bible.
If anything, I came to it with reverence—and a deep trust that the Spirit could still speak through its pages. And it has. It continues to.
But in recent months, I’ve found myself navigating a lesser-charted Christian terrain—one where my spirit pulses with questions that don’t always have institutional answers. I’ve been praying for discernment, not detours. And that prayer has led me somewhere unexpected: into the buried wisdom of the divine feminine.
It began, strangely enough, with time.
As I explored the dissonance of our calendar—the severing of nature’s rhythm, the masculine grip on timekeeping —I began peeling back layers of power and pattern. Even the way we track days and months felt out of step with creation itself.
And then came the question I couldn’t unsee:
What else has been reordered to serve authority rather than truth?
That question led me to the canonization of Scripture.
And eventually… to a gospel I’d never read.
A gospel so resonant, so aligned with the healing work I’ve been doing, that it felt like it was speaking directly to the part of me that had never stopped listening.
The Gospel of Mary is fragmented. Silenced. Excluded.
And yet it holds a vision of resurrection that feels deeply familiar—
not because I was taught it, but because I remembered it.
This isn’t the gospel of dogma.
It’s the gospel of integration.
Of ego death, of feminine wisdom, of the soul’s unfolding.
And it begins, as all things do, at the root.
The Gospel They Buried
It’s strange how long it took me to learn that the Bible as we know it—Genesis to Revelation, leather-bound and indexed—was the product of centuries of human decision-making. I don’t say that to diminish its power. If anything, it deepens my reverence for the voices we did receive—and the ones we didn’t.
The Gospel of Mary was likely written in the 2nd century and was found in a 5th-century codex discovered in Egypt in 1896. Only fragments survive. The first six pages are missing, and several in the middle are torn away. But what remains pulses with clarity and power.
In it, Mary Magdalene receives direct teachings from the risen Christ—teachings that center on the soul’s journey, inner liberation, and the return to oneness with God. She recounts these to the other disciples, who question her authority.
Because she is a woman.
Because what she says doesn’t reinforce hierarchy.
Because it challenges the emerging order.
In this gospel:
Mary Magdalene is a beloved disciple, not a marginal figure
She receives private teachings from Christ after the resurrection
She shares a mystical vision of the soul’s liberation from egoic powers
She is challenged by Peter—and defended by Levi
It was not forgotten.
It was buried—intentionally, protectively, like a seed.
It remains lesser known today not because it lacks wisdom, but because it carries a different kind of authority: not institutional, but inherent.
It doesn’t contradict the gospel of Jesus.
It deepens it.
“The kingdom of God is within you.” — Luke 17:21
“I am returning to the One.” — Gospel of Mary
We didn’t just lose a book.
We lost a way of seeing.
A way of being.
A sacred remembering of the divine voice within.
But like all true roots, it remained alive underground.
Waiting. Widening. Ready to reemerge in the fullness of time.
Is the Gospel of Mary Heretical?
If you’re like me, you’ve been conditioned to reject anything not bound in the canon. So you may have googled the Gospel of Mary and seen the word “heretical” thrown around, and kept your nose in your Bible.
But it’s important to ask: heretical to whom?
Historically, “heresy” didn’t mean evil or false. It meant: a deviation from the official position of the institutional Church. In other words, anything outside the doctrines approved by Rome during the early centuries of Christian canon-building.
The Gospel of Mary wasn’t excluded because it was incoherent or contradictory to Jesus’ teachings.
It was excluded because:
It emphasized inner revelation over ecclesial authority
It affirmed a woman’s voice as spiritually valid and trusted
It revealed a mystical, union-based understanding of resurrection
It threatened the emerging framework of control-based orthodoxy
In short, it didn’t serve the empire. It served the soul.
So no—this gospel isn’t heretical in the sense of being dangerous to the faith.
It’s only dangerous to the systems that feared a feminine, free, and fully awakened Church.
For those with ears to hear, Mary’s gospel sounds like home.
The Soul’s Ascent (and the Resurrection Within)
The moment I read Mary’s account of the soul’s journey through the powers, I felt something in me stand still. Not in fear—but in recognition.
She wasn’t describing doctrine.
She was describing an initiation.
And to be clear—this isn’t reserved for mystics in cloaks or scholars in candlelit halls.
This is your journey, and mine. It’s what happens when we begin to remember what we came from—and what no longer owns us.
SIDEBAR: What Is a Mystic?
A mystic seeks direct, experiential union with the Divine—rather than relying solely on inherited structure.
To be a mystic is to:
Trust that God speaks in the stillness within
Know that union with God is not a theory—it’s a return
Believe that the veil is thin, and truth is relational
Mary Magdalene was a mystic.
So was Jesus.
Mysticism does not reject Scripture.
It roots it deeper.
It invites us to sit not just at the foot of the Word—but in the presence of the Author.
Ascension, Reimagined
In the Gospel of Mary, the soul ascends not by escaping the body, but by shedding the illusion of separation.
It passes through spiritual forces—Mary calls them powers—that try to keep it bound:
Darkness – the voice of shame and fear
Desire – the grasping for identity and worth
Ignorance – the illusion that we are not divine
And how does the soul ascend and break free?
Not by fighting.
Not by force.
By naming.
By remembering.
“You did not recognize me, but I have recognized you. I come from what is undivided.”
What Resurrection Really Means
The word resurrect means to rise again—but rise from what?
For Mary, resurrection isn’t solely about bodily revival.
It’s the soul’s return to its unfragmented state— to the undivided One.
It’s when we no longer live from the ego that was shaped by trauma, patriarchy, or fear—but from the root of who we are.
This is not spectacle.
It is remembrance.
Not a flash of light—but a soul-deep turning toward truth.
Not leaving the body—but returning to Source.
Not escaping the world—but releasing the illusion that you were ever separate.
Mary doesn’t lead us out of the world.
She leads us through it— into truth
Peter, Mary, and Levi — The Archetypes Within
What unfolds next is not just theological tension.
It’s the inner landscape of the soul revealed.
Peter: The Ego That Fears the Unraveling
Peter doubts her, not because her message is unclear—but because it didn’t come through him. He represents the part of us that clings to control, demands proof, and resists mystery.
“Did He really speak privately with a woman?”
Peter is the voice that asks:
“Am I allowed to trust this?”
“Why wasn’t this given through the proper channels?”
“What if this challenges everything I’ve known?”
Peter is not evil.
He’s afraid.
He is the ego, trying to maintain control in the presence of revelation.
Mary: The Integrated Self That Speaks from Union
Mary doesn’t defend herself.
She doesn’t argue.
She simply remembers.
“Do you think I made this up in my heart?”
She speaks from wholeness. From union. From the place beyond validation.
She is the voice within us that:
Trusts inner knowing
Speaks from the root
Stands steady in the face of rejection
Mary is the soul returned to herself.
Levi: The Sacred Witness
Levi doesn’t correct Peter. He calls him in.
“If the Savior made her worthy, who are you to reject her?”
Levi is the mature masculine in each of us—the sacred witness—who creates space for feminine wisdom to rise. He is:
The voice that affirms what ego fears
The protector of revelation
The one who remembers the original instruction: bring forth what is within you
And that’s exactly what Mary does.
Back to the Root
If the Gospel of Mary had ended with Peter’s rejection, it might’ve been just another story of silencing.
But it didn’t.
It ended with movement. With witness. With someone remembering what Jesus actually said—and walking it out.
That’s what this path has become for me.
Not a rebellion. Not a rupture.
But a return.
Not a rising up—but a rooting down.
Resurrection, as Mary reveals it, isn’t simply some far-off miracle.
It’s the soul turning toward what has always been true.
It’s the voice inside you that says: You are no longer bound.
And what Mary carried wasn’t theology—it was presence.
An unshakable remembrance of who she was and where she came from.
So much of this journey—my journey— has felt like coming home to that same place.
To Eden.
Not the Eden of exile.
The Eden beneath it.
The original wholeness. The soil of the soul. The root.
“The Savior said, ‘All nature, all formations, all creatures exist in and with one another, and they will be resolved again into their own roots.’” — Gospel of Mary, verse 22
And maybe that’s what resurrection really is:
A resolution.
Not into doctrine.
But into origin.
“I come from what is undivided.”
So do you.
And if you’re walking the spiral—breaking the chain, loosening the illusion, reclaiming what was buried—
then may this blog be a mirror. A whisper.
A root brushing up against yours beneath the surface.
Because what Mary knew is still true:
You were never meant to live fragmented.
You were meant to come home.
Read the Gospel of Mary
If you’d like to read the surviving text yourself, you can find a public domain English translation here via Sacred Texts, or here via Early Christian Writings.
Keep in mind: the first six pages are missing, and several others are fragmentary. What remains is about 8 pages of dialogue—brief, but profound.
In love + light,
April