You have within you more love than you could ever understand.
~ Rumi
In Letter 11, we left the Lover at the entrance to the Enchanted Forest, as she set out on her quest to bring the Sovereign back to the Garden-Citadel.
As we tiptoe behind her, the Lover mulls on the events of the day. She picks her way gingerly along what could still be called a path into the Enchanted Forest. Before long, however, no path can be discerned – either on the ground covered with a thick layer of dry and decaying leaves, or by scanning tree-trunks for markings left as signs. The Lover keeps walking, holding up her heart as if it were a lantern.
As the sun gets hazy towards evening, the Lover trips on a coiled root and twists her ankle. This – plus her suspicion that she’s seen that craggy, gorgeous oak already twice before – tips her towards panic. How is she meant to find the Sovereign in these boundless, uncharted wilds?
Watching the twilight drifting in, the Lover is close to giving up her quest. She gathers her wits and tells herself to stand in one spot and turn through 360 degrees. Her last hope is to catch sight of the beacon the Strategist promised to set up on the Citadel’s tallest tower.
Only now, she realises the flaw in Strategist’s plan: she can’t see through the thick forest canopy. The Lover shivers, although the Nurturer’s wet-weather cloak is wrapped tightly around her limbs.
Exhausted, she sits down on a fallen tree, furry with moss so thick that it reminds her of the velvet-covered banquettes in Mirador Pleasant. She longs to be back in her beloved personal retreat, among the familiar comforting luxuries, books and candles.
To her surprise, a candle appears in the middle distance, weaving its way towards her between the tree trunks. Is the Forest playing tricks on her? Is it eavesdropping on her thoughts?
The Lover shakes her head, but when her vision steadies, the candle is even closer. She peers through the half-gloom, mystified and alarmed. The effort makes her anxious eyes water. What looked like a candle now seems more like a glowworm or a winking star.
The Lover recalls hearing people talk of how the Wanderer sometimes appears in the guise of a star. She tries to stand up to defend herself, the Champion’s warning ringing in her ears.
The Star says ‘You’re only lost if you can’t see what the trees are doing.’
What the trees are doing? That’s such an odd thought. The Lover momentarily forgets her fright and gazes at the trees, as if for the first time. In the twinkling starlight, the trees seem to be waving.
The Lover momentarily forgets her fright and gazes at the trees, as if for the first time. In the twinkling starlight, the trees seem to be waving.
‘The trees are… waving hello to me,’ thinks the Lover.
‘The trees are waving hello.
I am… not a stranger here.
And the Star is right: I’m not lost.
I am part of the communion of life.’
As this realisation sinks in, tears stream down the Lover’s face. She’s home. Wonder fills her to the brim. She has forgotten her painful ankle and the bewilderment of the afternoon. The gates of her heart are standing wide open.
The Star nods. ‘That’s right. The trees are greeting you. The forest knows where you are. Stand still.’
The Lover thinks she couldn’t move even if she tried. In the tranquil air, her ear catches a distant sound. It might be a sob – or perhaps a lament, a mournful chant.
The Lover follows the sound until she spots the Sovereign with her back against a tree, her face in her hands.
‘How are you keeping, dear Sovereign?’ says the Lover cautiously.
‘I’m not going back, whatever you say. I have failed the Citadel. I can’t do it.’
‘But without you, the Wishing Well has dried up.’
‘There’s nothing I can do.’
The Lover tries her best to persuade the Sovereign, but to no avail.
The Sovereign stands up, signalling the end of the conversation. ‘You know what surprised me today? That the Forest sounds like our Garden-Citadel at dawn: busy with a “bird, beast and tree” kind of bustle, before the human-style cacophony of the day begins.’
The Lover struggles to believe that she got this close, but could not fulfil her mission.
The Sovereign looks at her gravely and shakes her head no. No hope of moving the Sovereign’s resolve.
The Lover swallows hard. ‘I will respect your decision, Sovereign. But permit me to say one thing before this conversation is concluded. I need to apologise to you.
I wanted to be a lover of art and beauty. I wanted love’s peace. I got so preoccupied with my comfort, I forgot to notice what might not be pleasing. I didn’t want to admit that your need could be as great as mine.
I plead your forgiveness, Sovereign. It is love’s power and duty to have eyes to see with. Yet I did not see your struggle. It wasn’t until I was here, seeing you like this, that I began to wonder, What's it like to be you? I don’t think I realised until this moment how lonely it must have been for you.
I accept your decision. And if you want me to leave, I will honour your request. As I go, I want you to know that I carry you with me. I’ll travel with you, even as I walk away.’
Something passes across the Sovereign’s face. For a moment, her gaze is far-off. Then her eyes re-focus on the here-and-now. ‘Thank you, Lover. That felt good to hear.’ The balm to the Sovereign’s suffering was so simple that even the Lover could not divine it deliberately. For someone to show their genuine interest in what it’s like to be you! This balm’s potency is known to have moved mountains. The vitamin of being seen revives the Sovereign. ‘I will return to the Citadel with you.’
For someone to show their genuine interest in what it’s like to be you! This balm’s potency is known to have moved mountains.
‘Thank you, Sovereign. I’m thrilled to hear that! The next hurdle, however, is that I don’t know how to find our way back.’
The Sovereign looks up, her gaze seeking for a patch of sky. Nestled in the tree branches, the Star twinkles at her. ‘If you follow me, I’ll show you the way.’
They follow the Star into a clearing, where it says, ‘Sovereign, look up again.’
Now it’s the Sovereign’s turn to stand suffused in wonder. A strange sight fills the horizon: the Garden-Citadel wearing a circlet of stars.
For a moment, the Sovereign hears the hum of a long-submerged wish. Then the beam of the beacon on the tallest tower reaches its arms out towards her… and the hushed nocturnal vision is gone.
‘When you next see a circle, all will be well.’ The Star twirls around the Sovereign, and is gone from sight.
The Champion is the first to spot the weary expedition nearing the great gates. She steps out of the Citadel to greet the arrivers, her slender figure outlined against the stars. “Hail, Sovereign! It’s good to see you returned. I’ve stood watch all night. Here’s a glass of water, in case you’re thirsty.’
The Sovereign accepts the proffered drink, surprised to realise how long it’s been since liquid touched her lips.
In the morning, the archetypes assemble in the stronghold by the Wishing Well. ‘We hope you can fix the Well and get it flowing again.’ The Strategist seems apprehensive.
‘So do I, dear friend.’ The Sovereign sounds subdued.
‘Is there anything any of us can do to help?’ The Nurturer counts the marks of weariness on the Sovereign’s face and is secretly dismayed.
‘I don’t know. Let me try first.’
The archetypes file out in respectful silence.
The Sovereign spends hours by the Well. Its eerie muteness unnerves her – but she cannot find what’s wrong.
Finally, she sends word for the archetypes to gather by the well. ‘I am sorry, I cannot find what the Wishing Well needs. I have failed you yet again.’ They scan her face anxiously. Her burden of responsibility is becoming visible to them for the first time. Seeing the Sovereign so disheartened is painful and scary. But something else is coming through, as well – how lonesome she looks, standing by the Wishing Well.
Her burden of responsibility is becoming visible to them for the first time.
The Sovereign squares her shoulders. ‘You need a new leader. I will retire to the Forest and live out my days like the Wanderer. But this time, I want to take my leave of you properly. I wish you to know that I will carry you all in my heart. You will travel with me, wherever I go.’
‘I will go with you, Sovereign’ The Champion stands up.
A faint smile lifts the Sovereign’s features. ‘Your loyalty does you credit, Champion. But your greater allegiance is to the Citadel. You are needed here.’
‘But the Citadel needs you at least as much – ’
‘Alas, I cannot find my way to serve the Citadel as I would wish.’
The Lover stands up next. ‘However you choose, Sovereign, you have the eyes of love on you and with you. However far you go, know that my heart will be listening.’
The Strategist rises slowly. ‘I set up a beacon on the tallest tower, so the Lover could bring you home. I will keep it shining every night, so that, even in the deepest gloom, you can see you have a home here.’
The Nurturer is last. He looks embarrassed. ‘I can’t offer to go with you, Sovereign. The gardens need my care. They’ve been through a lot – the weather’s been too dry and too cold lately. But, strange to say, you look to me like one of our frostbitten plants. I wish I could wrap you in one of the frost blankets that keep the plants warm.’
The Sovereign gazes in wonder at the archetypes standing in a circle. She is part of a circle, at last. Tears well up in her eyes. She whispers, ‘After all this time, here it is – my wish. To see us come together, stand united.’
The Sovereign gazes in wonder at the archetypes standing in a circle. She is part of a circle, at last.
A long moment hovers in the air.
One after one, the archetypes pick up the faint trickling sound of a… ‘The Wishing Well! The Wishing Well is flowing again!’
‘Sol…Sol! What’s the matter?’
‘Sorry, Elio. The circle is complete, at last.’
Sol’s eyes seem half-inward, as if a dream’s spell is still suspended in the air.
‘You’re crying…’
‘Oh, these are okay, these are meltwater tears. They’re just… old pain getting rinsed out.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘You know, I’ve been so afraid to believe that you are real. I was convinced you were about to go puff and disappear.’
‘Sol, we’ve talked about this. I’m real alright. And if you go on again about me disappearing, I’m gonna tickle you.’
‘No, listen. All this time… all this time, I couldn’t believe that love — love that does as love would do — love as you do love – could come into my life. I decided long ago that, if love is the way I thought it was, then I didn’t want it. I did my best to stay away from it – I mean, I didn’t think of it in those words, but that’s what I was doing. I thought I could take care of everyone – and that that’s okay, it’s just how things are.
Then you showed up and… it seemed like you could see me. Like you could see right through to the places I thought no one could ever see. Places I thought were behind impenetrable walls. And you… you seemed to walk right through those walls. It freaked me out.’
Was Elio the elusive figure in the Citadel?
‘Sol, are you telling me you wish I didn’t see you?’
‘No! No!! Oh gosh, no. It’s just… I kept thinking, this can’t be real. Or, that I would screw it up. It felt so… precious and impossible and…’
‘And now?’
‘And now… I wish I could believe that this love is possible.’
‘Okay. Who gets to decide?’
Sol’s mouth does a fish-dance of indecision.
‘Me, I suppose.’
‘And how will you decide?’ Elio’s eyes are both fond and piercing.
‘I will choose love.’ Sol is on the point of tears, but there is a firm fold tucked in at the corners.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes — even though it stings like hell.’
Sol wipes at his eyes with a defiant gesture.
‘I will… I… I choose… I choose to let meltwater tears rinse out of my eyes, and out of my heart, the ache of past disappointments. I choose to cherish you and cherish our love, and quit frightening myself with old nightmares. I choose to re-make my world into one where love can flourish.’
I choose to let meltwater tears rinse out of my eyes, and out of my heart, the ache of past disappointments... I choose to re-make my world into one where love can flourish.
Elio hugs Sol tight. ‘It’s like you’re finally all here. Oh, I’ve waited for this moment for so long!’
Sol looks at Elio and wonders, what’s it like to wait so long next to someone who has yet to choose love?
I told you at the start that this is a story about a boy who wanted to be loved. Sol got his wish: to be seen with the eyes of love. But to become love, he had to both receive and choose it.
He had to find a way to grant his permission for love to enter. It’s one of the great paradoxes of the Dance of Lead+Follow. We may think we’re waiting for others to lead. But for everyone else, we’re one of those ‘others’ with the power to take the lead. How to remember to include ourselves?
In my next Letter, I will be talking about the paradoxes of bestowing and receiving Respectful Help.
Communion within
If you’re searching for a place to call home,
the invisible place – inside you –
may be the last on your mind.
But when you find it,
you can become a refuge for the world.
If this Letter stirred your curiosity, here are a few places to continue:
How to take the lead, and include ourselves
→ Letter 2: Trust your own lead
Meeting the Sovereign archetype
→ Letter 10: To forgive yourself
How the eyes of love can build your faith in others valuing you
→ Letter 7: To be seen with the Eyes of Love
The words spoken by the Guiding Star were inspired by Lost, a poem by David Wagoner
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