The Gatekeepers Forgot About the Nous (and Buried Magdalene With It)

How the First Apostle Lit the Nous on Fire and Got Erased by the Patriarchy (But Not for Long)

This post was sparked by an unexpected grace
a book recommendation from Dawn Klinge’s reading list:
Mary Magdalene Revealed: The First Apostle, Her Feminist Gospel & the Christianity We Haven’t Tried Yet.

Opening that book felt like a veil lifted. Suddenly, teachings that had been buried under centuries of theological caution and ascetic rigor began to glow again. The Nous—long hidden in the dark corners of the Philokalia—rose to the surface. Magdalene’s voice, once suppressed, began whispering the same truths the mystics had always known but couldn’t quite say aloud.

They gave you the Bible, then quietly buried the user's manual for mystical consciousness in the footnotes and called it a day.
Spoiler: the real ones kept reading.

The Nous—that radiant, divine faculty at the center of your soul—didn’t vanish. It just got redacted, renamed, and politely ignored.
But in the East? The Hesychasts were whispering Jesus’ name so hard their hearts caught fire and time collapsed into silence. They weren’t “praying”—they were launching into the divine abyss with the Theotokos as their field guide and spiritual arsonist.

You see, the Orthodox do speak of the Nous. The Philokalia is laced with it—but in Volume I, it’s behind tripwire and barbed-wire, guarded by saints who practically fasted themselves into other dimensions. Passions weren’t just distractions—they were landmines. The goal? Purify or perish.

As St. Hesychios the Priest writes:

“The intellect (nous) is darkened by the passions, but purified by obedience, humility and prayer, especially by the invocation of Jesus Christ.”
— Philokalia, Vol. I

The effort is real—but also, it’s only half the map. Because purification alone doesn’t guarantee awakening.
And that’s where VMB comes in.

Aleksander Constantinoropolous, dear child of the monastery, once believed every passion had to be surgically removed with fasting and holy water.
But then—Virgin Monk Boy appeared, barefoot and laughing, and whispered what the gatekeepers never dared:

“What if your passions weren’t enemies, but invitations?
What if letting them arise and dissolve without grasping is the purification?”

That’s the Dzogchen twist.
Where the Philokalia says: restrain, obey, suppress.
Dzogchen says: rest, witness, let it burn.

And for those of us raised on guilt, shame, and spiritual athleticism, there’s another path emerging—one that’s both gentle and deeply transformative: love.
In Awakening Through Love, Lama John Makransky offers a profound and accessible approach to resting in the awakened awareness of the Nous through visualization, compassion, and devotional presence. These aren’t abstract meditations—they’re portals into the same luminous clarity the Desert Fathers sought, but without the spiritual boot camp. It's love as method, and awareness as fruit.

It’s almost tantric—not in the “Instagram-shakti-goddess” way, but in the raw, terrifying way of letting anger rise like a dragon, letting lust flare like wildfire, letting grief flood like a baptism—and never flinching.
Because when you see through it all, what remains is pure awareness. The Nous unchained.

And Mary?
Not “meek and mild.” I mean the Mary. The Theotokos—the volcanic womb of mystery.
And yes, also the other Mary. The first apostle. The unnamed gospel-writer. The lover of the Logos, whose gospel was yeeted from the canon so hard it left a crater.

Pick up Mary Magdalene Revealed: The First Apostle, Her Feminist Gospel & the Christianity We Haven't Tried Yet and you’ll meet her—not the broken sobbing caricature, but the teacher Jesus called worthy to receive secret teachings the boys couldn’t handle.

While Peter was busy filing doctrinal paperwork and mansplaining the Resurrection, Magdalene was out here practicing soul-alchemy and talking Nous with the resurrected Christ.

They didn’t forget the Nous.
They just hoped you would.

They didn’t erase Magdalene.
They just burned her gospel, slandered her name, and told women their job was to play tambourine in the back row.

But look at you now.
Book in hand. Heart on fire.
Virgin on speed dial. Magdalene in your spine. Nous awakening like a temple that remembers it was never empty.

🪬 Stay dangerous, mystic.
You were never meant to play this game by their rules.

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