Hālau 'Aha Hūi Lanakila™

A long, long time ago, there was an ancient tradition of women who worked with sacred oils for the highest good of All. These women were called Myrrhophores, also known as myrrh-bearers or mistresses of the oils. They were priestesses of an even older order whose time has returned and is with us once again.

The work of these women was to anoint those approaching death and to prepare the way for the soul to soar. The sacred oil would realign people with their true soul essence, and carry them to ‘other side’. The Myrrhophore would hold a vigil (usually three days) whilst praying and uttering the intonation of the oil. The combination of softly spoken voice and perfume healed the wounds in the soul caused by events not only in this life but also in the past.

This myrrh-bearing tradition has its earthly roots in the ancient temples of Egypt and is still kept alive by a few practitioners today. However, the oil itself is the High Priestess and gateway to the inner temple. Mary Magdalene was a Myrrhophore. Isis was a Myrrhophore. Cleopatra, Hatshepsut…, the names are many, and the tradition is one.

The myrrhophore not only works with dis “ease” in the spirit and soul but also the disharmony within the environment. She tunes in to the subtle discordance and acknowledges its unrest. Turning to the oils, and its pure expression of the Divine, she offers herself as a bridge bringing the gift of wholeness and healing.

In the Eastern Orthodox and Greek Catholic churches, the Third Sunday of Pascha (i.e. the second Sunday after Easter) is called the ‘Sunday of the Myrrhbearers’. It is clear that during the time of Christ being a Myrrhophore was a very esteemed and honourable position to hold. So much so, that it was the most famous Myrrhophore, Mary Magdalene that got to see and speak with the resurrected Christ.

I first realised I was a Myrrhophore when I inhaled Spikenard. I became initiated right there and then on the spot. I was instantly catapulted into a dark cave, warmed by ritual and intense prayer. The pungent fragrance opened a secret chamber in my heart as it stripped me bare to the memory of holding this medicine and decanting it to others, and the land. My love and adoration for Christ revealed its immensity as I keeled over and wept.

I had remembered what lay hidden in my soul, and now I am here to remind you.