The Lesson of the Rose

The Rose.

There once was a pilgrim that found the Temple of Love. In his hands, he bore a symbol of his devotion to this quest of his. And upon knocking and finding the gatekeeper quite resistant, he left dejected and stunned. His impulsively, frustration and sensitive had not gone unnoticed. Out forth from the gates, stepped She and received his gift in perfect aloneness and silence, heard but said not.

Stunned, he turned around to find her outside the gates. Oh, he was a demanding and easily frustrated one even though so enchanting and bold. Few so boldly demand an audience with Love. He went on his way with a smile not knowing the joy he’d left behind. He had brought supplications to the Temple of Love, demanding and so self-assure that He had all that was needed. He thought himself a Master in need of a student. Such a strange supplication, She thought and smiled.

“Rose I received and shall gift the same in need.”

Thus it came to past that She became his student to learn what he had so desired to teach. Many a struggle, oh yes, a struggle. For He was Her soul temptation, to bend in her purpose, to become less than she ever was, for he had not yet learned what she really is. Passions run deep, my friends. How can Heart compete? It sways and bends in the breeze, giving and never taking.

The Lady of the Temple of Heart, who’s name is hidden, became one with Pain and longing and was thus freed. “How?”, you might ask. Love each part of you, yes even your daemons, your dark side, the parts of you, you hide from the world. Love all of you. Once you do, you’ll find you’ll love others too. For I am you and you are I. We are all the same, the whole world in. It was this that He taught Her, on her knees.

What more can I tell you, my friends? This story is not written. He still stands outside those gates. In Perfect Love and Trust can those Gates open. She awaits.

Be joyed. Love is Always the Answer. All the rest is absurdity. Laugh and be merry, for all pasts on the morrow. Go, be joyful and Love. Yes, Always Love my friends. Be Love.

Now live love.


I don’t know what to call this. It’s not quite fiction, not quite real. Maybe it’s an illusion of things that has past or the past is an illusion of this that is real. A moralist tale, for sure, yet spiritual and I hope full of love and hope as I have intended to convey. 


About Isabella LeCour

She is nothing more than the collections of thoughts placed into the virtual worlds. She is a poet, a mother, a lover, many things to different people. But mostly, she is nothing but smoke and mirrors - some ethereal thing that blinks in an out of existence.
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