The Book of Love

The world was never as worthy
as on the day that the Song of Songs
was given to the people;
for all the writings are holy,
whereas the Song of Songs is
the holiest of the holy.

—R
ABBI
A
KIVA, FIRST CENTURY CE

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THE HISTORIES OF THE BOOK OF LOVE AND THE LIBRO ROSSO

AUTHOR’S NOTES

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

But God was not a single being; he did not reign over the universe alone. He ruled with his companion, who was his beloved.

And thus in the first book of Moses, called Genesis, God said, “Let us make man in
our
image, after
our
likeness,” as he is speaking to his other half, his wife. For creation is a miracle that occurs most perfectly when the union of male and female principles is present. And the Lord God said, “Behold that man has become one of
us.”

And the book of Moses says, “Thus God created man in his own image, male and female created he them.”

How could it be that God created female in his own image if he did not have a female image? But this he does, and she was first called Athiret, and this name meant She Who Treads Upon the Sea. But it is not only the seas of our earth that this refers to. It is also upon the sea of stars, the band of light we call the Milky Way.

She treads on the stars as this is her domain, for she is the Queen of Heaven.

And she became known by many names, and one of these is Stella Maris, the Star of the Sea. She is the Mer Maid, for
mer
means both
love
and
sea,
and this is why the water is often seen as a symbol of her compassionate wisdom.

Another symbol used to represent her is a circle of stars that dance around a central sun, the female essence enveloping the male in her love. Where you see this symbol, you will know that the spirit of all that is divine in femininity is present.

Later, Athiret of the Sea and Stars became known in the Hebrew as Asherah, our Divine Mother, and the Lord became known as El, our Heavenly Father.

And so it was that El and Asherah desired to experience their great and holy love in a more expressive physical form and to share such blessedness with the children they would create. Each soul who was created was matched, given a twin made from the same essence. In the book called Genesis, this is told in the allegory of Adam’s twin being created from his rib, which is to say his own essence, as she is flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone, spirit of his spirit.

Then God said, as it is told through Moses, “And they shall become as one flesh.”

Thus the hieros-gamos was created, the sacred marriage of trust and consciousness that unites the beloveds into One. This is our most holy gift from our father and mother in heaven. For when we come together in the bridal chamber, we find the divine union that El and Asherah wished for all of their earthly children to experience in the light of pure joy and the essence of true love.

For those with ears to hear, let them hear it.

E
L AND
A
SHERAH, AND THE
H
OLY
O
RIGINS OF
H
IEROS
-G
AMOS, FROM THE
B
OOK OF
L
OVE,
AS PRESERVED IN THE
L
IBRO
R
OSSO

La Beauce, France
AD 390

H
eavy beeswax candles dripped along the perimeter of the cavern, illuminating the cramped meeting space. The small community prayed with soft devotion, following the lead of the ethereal woman who stood before them at the stone altar. She finished the prayer and held the treasure of her people before her, an aged manuscript, bound in leather.

“The Book of Love. The only true words of the Lord.”

Candlelight glinted off the copper-gold hair of Lady Modesta as she kissed the book. The faithful in attendance responded in unison.

“For those with ears to hear.”

A reverential silence ensued, as if the words from the Book could not be followed with common talk. It was one of the young men, a devout and earnest follower named Severin, who broke the peace within the sacred environment.

“How fares our brother Potentian?”

Modesta answered, her voice as calm and lyrical as when she prayed. “I was able to see him in prison today and bring him bread. He is well. His faith is unshakable, as ours must be.”

Severin could not control his growing agitation, despite his best ef
forts to overcome the fear that swelled within. “You say he is well, but for how long? Rome kills more of our people as heretics each day. They will come for all of us next.”

There was a hesitant, murmured agreement in the little community. But Modesta, both wise and patient, never missed an opportunity to teach the truths that she held close.

“It is indeed a sad time when the persecuted become the persecutors. Christians suffered so many years of torture, and yet now they save their greatest violence for each other. We must forgive them for they know not what they do.”

Modesta’s sentence was punctuated by a sharp whistle at the mouth of the cavern. Too late, the lady and her congregation realized that they had been discovered by the very men from whom they were hiding.

Within moments, the tranquility of the religious gathering was shattered by chaos as a retinue of armed men burst forth through the only opening in the cave. No escape would be possible. These soldiers were all identically dressed, in dark robes and full hoods that covered their heads completely, with sinister slits where their eyes would be. Their leader stepped forward and removed his hood, revealing a shaved head and a carved wooden crucifix at his neck. Focused on Modesta, he spat out his contempt of a female leader while quoting from the epistles of Paul.

“Permit no woman to teach, but to keep silent. Lady Modesta of La Beauce, you are under arrest for heresy.”

Modesta eyed him calmly and with recognition. “Brother Timothy. You come for me, and I will go with you. But leave these innocent people in peace.”

The distressed young Severin panicked at the prospect of losing their leader and jumped forward to block Brother Timothy’s advance. “You will not take her!”

Hooded men flooded forward. Modesta took the distraction as an opportunity to maneuver the sacred book behind her back and out of sight of her accuser. She did not yet realize how grave the danger was to her followers. A woman devoted to the essence of love and compassion cannot fathom the minds of violent men quite so quickly.

The hooded militia drew their weapons and began to make use of them without hesitation. A double-edged sword plunged first through the heart of Severin; his life burst forth from the wound, baptizing the congregation in his blood.

Chaos transformed the small space as the remaining faithful attempted to scatter, the terrible realization of their predicament now a full reality. Their exit was blocked by the ruthless violence of an attacking force that showed no mercy for the remaining congregation.

“Madeleine!”

Modesta searched for her child in the melee, but the little girl was already running to reach her mother on the altar. Uncommonly petite at eight years old, Madeleine appeared much younger, which Modesta prayed would be to her advantage.

She had to save her child. She had to save the Book.

Hugging the girl close, Modesta hid the treasure in the folds of Madeleine’s dress, pulling her cape over the garment to create further cover. She yelled over the chaos to Brother Timothy.

“Stop! Stop! I will go with you. Please, no more bloodshed.”

There was nothing left to stop. The hooded soldiers had slaughtered all the others in attendance, leaving the cavern floor drenched with the blood of the innocent faithful. Brother Timothy sniffed with distaste as he stepped fastidiously over a blood-soaked corpse on the way to capture his quarry.

“Spare the life of this little child,” Modesta pleaded with him. “You are a man of God. You cannot visit the sins of the fathers upon the children.”

“Is she yours?”

“No. She is of the peasantry, and simple.”

Brother Timothy stepped forward to run a lock of the child’s dark brown hair through his fingers.

“She does not have the unholy hair that is the mark of your kind. If she did, I would kill her myself. But a female peasant child is hardly worth the effort. Let her go.”

He dismissed the girl with a wave and turned his back on the females to assess the carnage.

Modesta hugged Madeleine as the little girl clutched her hands against her tiny body, holding on to the concealed book for dear life. Realizing this time with her daughter would be her last, Modesta whispered in her ear. “Be not afraid, Madeleine. I will love you again. The time returns.”

She kissed her daughter quickly and sent the little girl running out of the cavern, watching her go with a tragic mix of maternal pride and unutterable heartbreak.

“My beloved. I would give anything if it were not you in that cell.”

Potentian grasped at the bars that separated him from his wife. His time in prison had taken its toll, and he was wasted to flesh and bones. His face and hair were filthy, but to Modesta, he was the most beautiful man in the world. She wished only that she could touch him, but they were both bound and the distance between them in the dank prison was too great.

“And yet we are together, which is a blessing in any form. Do not fear death, my love. We cannot, as we know it is not the end.”

Potentian was desperate. “Do not give up. You are kinswoman to Bishop Martin of Tours. We can petition his intervention. He can stop this!”

Modesta sighed her resignation. “My blessed cousin has been unsuccessful in saving heretics, much as he has tried. The Church is most determined to be rid of us, and quickly. Brother Timothy will see us dead before sunset tomorrow.”

“And what will become of our Madeleine?”

“She was spared in the massacre. I had to deny her, to say she was not ours. Thanks be to God that it is your coloring she has, or our mourning would be beyond bearing. She will go to my brother. You know he will protect her.”

“And the Book? Is it safe?”

“Madeleine hid it in her cloak. She was so brave.”

His expression in the low candlelight was full of admiration. “She takes after her mother. By saving the Book, she will be the savior of us all. The teachings of the Way will continue.”

Modesta nodded her agreement, before musing out loud.

“The truth is once again saved by a girl child. So has it always been, so shall it ever be.”

A somber crowd gathered on the ancient hilltop for the execution, where an ominous wooden chopping block perched atop the scaffold. Two axes leaned against the block, crossed in an
X
formation.

Side by side with hands bound behind them, Modesta and Potentian trudged up the hill. They were surrounded by heavily armed and hooded men, who goaded them to move faster. Modesta’s once glorious hair had been hacked off, harshly and unevenly, to expose her delicate neck to the blade that would separate it from her body.

Potentian looked at her, his heart filled with love and sadness. “We shall die as we have taught and lived. Together.”

Modesta returned the expression. “And we shall come back to teach together again. As God wills and the time is determined.”

Potentian slowed his pace to prolong their precious time together. His wife matched his stride to stay as close to him as possible in these minutes. He whispered his final request.

“Will you sing it for me? One last time?”

Modesta smiled at him, the final earthly gift she could give to her beloved, and began to sing in her sweet voice:

As Modesta completed her song, a muscular man with a reddish glint to his hair emerged from the crowd and came toward them, hold
ing Madeleine safely in his arms. Catching a glimpse of her daughter, Modesta froze. Potentian, following the gaze of his wife, stopped beside her. They did not dare acknowledge the child, but in that moment there was a profound exchange of love and loss between this little family.

Madeleine looked at her mother intently, with wisdom well beyond that of any eight-year-old, and nodded. The slightest hint of a smile played at her lips. Her mother, proud and relieved in this terrible moment, managed to smile back just as a hooded guard pushed her roughly from behind and toward the scaffold. Modesta leaned close to her husband and whispered.

“Both of our treasures are safe.”

A guard on either side of the chopping block approached to position the prisoners. Modesta asked her question loud enough for the crowd to hear.

“Good sirs, will you allow us just one moment to pray together?”

The guards looked over to where the baleful Brother Timothy stood, squirming in anticipation of the coming spectacle. He was entrapped. As a man of the Church he could not deny a prayer request.

“The Church is merciful and will allow a brief prayer if the heretics wish to repent.”

Modesta moved to her husband, turning her face up to him for the final time. In this moment, there was no scaffold, no axe, no terrible injustice. There was only love as they repeated the most sacred prayer of their people in soft unison.

Modesta reached up to touch her lips to those of her beloved in one soft, ultimate kiss.

“Enough!”

Brother Timothy’s ire shattered the moment. Angry now, the guards
ripped the couple apart and pushed them to their knees, side by side at the block.

With the deep calm that comes from knowing that only God awaits, both Modesta and Potentian lowered their heads to the block. They continued to pray softly in unison as the first axe fell with a sickening thud. The second followed a moment later.

The crowd did not stir. The sense of mourning and tragedy was thick in the atmosphere. It was not the celebrated execution of heretics that Brother Timothy had hoped for. He allowed his unpopular perspective to ring out: “Let this be a warning to all that heresy will not be tolerated in the Holy Roman Empire!”

The townsfolk dispersed in the wake of this harsh cautionary instruction, faces solemn and more than a little afraid. Brother Timothy ignored them all. He approached the chopping block to address the executioners.

“Do not leave any martyr’s relics for the heretics to mourn over. Throw them in the depths of the well. It’s the closest I can come to sending them to Hell myself.”

Brother Timothy took a long, satisfied look at Modesta’s mutilated body as the executioners began their grim task. Obsession overcame his face as he pulled something out of the pocket of his robe surreptitiously: a lock of Modesta’s vivid red hair.

With their shepherdess dead, the sheep would be easy to control.

He shoved the fetish back in his pocket and walked through Modesta’s pooled blood without looking back.