The Remembrance Codes

The Living Pages: Mary Magdalene's Hidden Scrolls

• Susan Sutherland

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There are gospels that were never written - not because they lacked truth, but because their truth was too alive to bind in ink. This is one of them.

In this sacred episode, the voice of Mary Magdalene returns - not as myth or doctrine, but as living memory. What unfolds is not a teaching, but a transmission. A walk through the scrolls that were carried in womb, in blood, and in breath. Her words rise not to inform, but to ignite.

You’ll enter conversations with Yeshua, once hidden… fragments of knowing preserved not in scripture, but in the body of the beloved. And from these sacred scrolls emerge living codes - for those who are ready to remember, not what happened, but who they are.

This offering is not meant to be consumed - it is meant to be received. Felt. Carried.

If you’re called to deepen your walk, you’re invited to download The Living Pages as a free sacred scroll on my website. But enter gently. This is Magdalene’s field, and it is alive.

For a deeper walk with Magdalene's transmissions, join us in The Keepers' Garden - a scared community on Patreon. 

Speaker 1:

Welcome to the Remembrance Codes. You are not just listening, you are entering into a living field of memory and your presence is needed and felt and known Remains. I invite you to begin there, because it offers the foundation for this one the backstory, the erasure and the restoration of Magdalene's voice. But today we continue and we will walk further. We're going to step into the pages that could never be written. So what follows is not history, it is the living breath of a gospel that was never bound in ink but carried in blood in the womb and in the walk. These are not teachings, they are transmissions, and these scrolls were never meant for temples of stone or councils of men. They were meant to be carried in the marrow and they are not for everyone, but they are for the ones who were marked by her flame. And so we begin where we left off Mary Magdalene, the living pages. And we are on the third scroll the womb teachings, the Womb Teachings. The womb is a temple of memory. The womb remembers. Even when the mind forgets, even when the lineage is frayed, the womb holds the imprint. She is the first bull receiving not just seed but song and sorrow, story and soul. You may not know what was done to your mother's mothers. But your womb does, and she waits for you to ask, not with fear but with reverence, the Alchemy of Blood. You were taught to hide your blood, to call it unclean, to silence its arrival. But your blood is the river of your becoming. It carries what was not spoken Each moon. When you bleed, you are not punished. You are participating in the remaking of the world. Do not discard it. Listen to it, speak to it, paint with it if you dare. Your blood is not waste. It is a living gospel. The womb as oracle. You ask for signs, but do you ask your womb? She is your oldest oracle. Before Tarot, before prophets, before temples, there was her. She will tell you who to trust. She will tell you who to trust. She will tell you when to wait. She will contract when you are betraying yourself and soften when you are walking. In truth, she does not speak in words. She speaks in pulses, heat, sensation, intuition and the subtle aching that says come home.

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The Womb Beyond Gender, the womb is not only for those with a uterus. It is a field, a frequency, a cosmic chamber. A frequency, a cosmic chamber. All can enter, all can remember. To carry the womb codes is not to bleed, it is to hold sacred, the power to birth, to transmute, to collapse. Illusion through stillness, lapse, illusion through stillness. Many men once carried these codes. Some still do. The sacred feminine is not female, it is the river of remembrance that lives in all, the Rite of Hollowing. Before the womb can be a vessel, it must be emptied, cleared of old lovers, old lies, old agreements, cleared of shame and striving. This is the right of hollowing. Not emptiness but sacred spaciousness, not abandonment but preparation. Let no one enter you who does not know they are entering a temple and let no idea root in you that is not aligned with your becoming.

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The fourth scroll, the hidden conversations with Yeshua, the question of power. I asked him once will. They crumbles? And if the soul is sovereign, then temple walls fall. They will not deny your truth because it is false, but because it makes them tremble. And I asked should I quiet it? And he said If you do, the stones will cry out in your place.

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The Nature of Sin. I told him I do not feel sinful and he smiled as though relieved. He said Sin is not a stain, it is forgetting. When you forget, you are divine. You act out the wound instead of the truth. But when you remember, ah, then the wound becomes the well.

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The Body? He did not treat the body as an obstacle. He worshipped it not as idol, but as incarnation. He once said to me they will try to make me into a ghost, disembodied and distant, but I am here in flesh, in sweat in breath. Tell them, mary, that I was not a light above them, I was a fire among them. Tell them not to float toward heaven, but to find the holy in their hands, the True Kingdom.

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Where is the kingdom? I asked him, and he placed his hand on my womb and he whispered here, then on his heart, and here, then to the ground. And here the kingdom is not a place you go, it is a field you awaken to. It is already within you. It always was. Even when you forgot their last conversation alone, he knew what was coming. I could see it in his eyes. He did not fear the end, only the distortion. Fear the end, only the distortion. Promise me, he said when they turn me into a weapon, you will be the remembrance. When they use my name to build thrones, you will tear them down with tenderness. You will not save them, mary, but you will remind them the fifth scroll, the teachings on union. Union is not completion. He did not complete me. He mirrored what was already whole. In his eyes I saw my own soul naked. In mine he saw the reflection of his becoming True.

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Union is not the joining of halves but the recognition of wholeness in another. It is the sign of two sovereigns who remember the garden. The sign of two sovereigns who remember the garden. Heros, gamos.

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The Inner Marriage, the sacred marriage, is not just between lovers. It is the fusion of the solar and lunar within. It is the moment when intuition and action kiss, when softness and strength no longer war. This union births vision. This union births clarity. This union births new worlds. If you want to change the outer, unite the inner first. The king will follow Sacred partnership.

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He never asked me to follow, he asked me to walk beside. Our union was not hierarchy, it was harmony. Harmony. He listened when I dreamed. I listened when he wept. He did not need titles to know that something holy walked between us. The world asked was she his wife? But the better question was were they flame and vessel? Were they breath and bone? Did they remember together? Yes, we did the Union of Earth and Sky. They taught you to reach for the sky to find the divine. But we reached for the soil. We kissed the ground, we poured oil on feet. We called the body home. Union is not transcendence, union is embodiment. To bring heaven to earth is not to rise above it, it is to love it into light. It is to love it into light, the Union that Remains Even when he left the body. Our union did not die. It changed form. It became wind and fire and memory and the silent knowing in my bones. Love is not ended by death. It is expanded by it. When the world buried him, they did not bury us. They buried a body, but we, we remained. I carry him not as a wound but as wisdom, not as loss but as light.

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The sixth scroll, the path after the cross. They watched me sail away and called it exile, but it was pilgrimage. I did not run. I followed the current of prophecy. The teacher told me they will not honor you here, so go where the land is still listening. And I did. With salt on my face and fire in the womb, I carried the gospel westward, not on scrolls but in frequency. The Arrival in the West.

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We landed in a place that knew silence, not silence as absence, but silence as sanctuary. There I was not a priestess or outcast. I was womb of the word, mother of myth, keeper of the codes, mother of myth, keeper of the codes. They came not to worship me but to remember through me. And I did not preach, I transmitted. I walked among them and the very soil stirred the School of the Rose. We gathered in caves, under moonlight, beside the spring. There was no pulpit, no altar, just the pulse of the earth and the breath of the divine.

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I taught the women first, not because men were unworthy, but because the wound had grown deepest in the feminine. They came, bent from shame, they left walking as temples. We did not call it church, we called it remembrance. The Veiled Years, they say. I vanished, but the veil was my cloak, not my cage. I learned to walk beneath sight, to transmit through dream, to teach through touch, to midwife the awakening for those who could see, without needing a book to tell them how my presence was never absent, only unwritten, because those who write the stories often fear the women who spoke. Anyway. The Magdalene path was never about recognition, it was about resonance, and that resonance still lives in rivers, in voices, in wombs, in wind. They tried to silence the gospel by ending the body, but I became a field, and fields do not die, they bloom again wherever one is brave enough to remember the Seventh Scroll, magdalene Codes.

Speaker 1:

For this Time, the Code of Remembrance, you are not becoming, you are remembering. Every ache, every rupture, every longing is not a detour, it is a doorway. The world teaches forgetting, but you, flamebearer, came here to disturb the amnesia. You do not need permission, only presence, the Code of Sovereignty. They will try to guide you with titles and temples and ten-step truths, but the real gospel was always written within you.

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Do not hand over your knowing to those who fear their own Spirituality. That requires your submission is not sacred, it is mimicry. The Christed path is not hierarchy, it is a hearth and you are the flame, the Code of Embodiment. Do not float away. Descend into your hips, into your breath, into the wild, holy ache of being human. Ascension without embodiment is abandonment. Heaven was never meant to be an escape. It is what you become when you bring your soul all the way in the Code of Soft Power. You do not need to shout to be heard, you do not need armor to be safe. Let your softness be your sovereignty. Let your tears be your testimony. Let your body, sacred, cyclical, alive, become the proof that love does not conquer through force but through remembrance, the Code of the Living Gospel.

Speaker 1:

You are the gospel now. Not a book, not a myth, not a doctrine, but a living, pulsing, radiant echo of the truth they tried to bury. Walk like you, carry it, speak like it breathes through you, because it does, because it does. And when you are tempted to doubt it, remember they wrote me out and I still rose. So will you. The scroll closes not with an ending, but with a remembering. You have descended, you have risen. Let the silence carry you now. Now, until the next scroll opens. Thank you, friends. A reminder that you are the gospel. Now the Living Pages is available in full as a free download sacred scroll on my website, as well as Magdalene's first-person transmission of the Missing Pages. If you want to lean deeper into this material, receive it in stillness and share it only in sacred alignment. Until next time, walk as someone who remembers.

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Susan Sutherland

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