The Rose of Heaven

Once upon a time, near the innermost edge of the innermost ring of the Great Rose of Heaven, there was a star so much brighter than all the others that it had been given a special name. That name was “The Light Bearer,” or, as it is spoken in the language of that place, Lucifer.

Now at that particular moment the Light Bearer was listening to the song that the great choruses of stars sing continually as they whirl about the Still Point that lies at the center of the Rose:

And while the choruses sang, The Light Bearer listened and thought. And then The Light Bearer spoke:

“Yes, you are holy, but that is only because you have not experienced limitation.”

The Great Wheel shuddered to a halt, for such a thing had never happened in all the endless cycles of eternity. Not once through the eons had the least word been spoken that suggested a qualification — almost a doubt! A moment later, though, the wheels lurched forward again, and as they moved, the choruses cried out:

“Without limitation! What can you mean! Compare us, then, to the Still Point! We are nothing but limitation! The Still Point is the center of All, and yet contains All. The Still Point does not move, but moves All! We are merely part, and we are that part which is moved. Only the Still Point is without limitation!”

At this, The Light Bearer paused and thought a moment more: “Let me say this in another way. — You are holy, because you do not experience privation.”

The wheels slowed...

“Privation? What is that?”

The Light Bearer smiled and explained: “It is a state where you lack some thing that you need or believe that you need. It is a condition that breeds desire...”

The Light Bearer tried countless words, but the choruses of stars, try as they might, could not understand.

Finally, in frustration, the Light Bearer declared, “You cannot know through words alone. Therefore, we must have a test!”

All the points of light within the Rose of Heaven strained inward as the Light Bearer described what he had in mind. In the end, though they could not fully comprehend his intention, they agreed to his proposal. They would submit to a trial.

The Light Bearer was first. He flared a little brighter, and as he flared, slowly, slowly, the great circle of Heaven again came to a stop.

Then, one by one, the stars winked out. One by one they disappeared, taking their fire with them, until all the brightness of Heaven was gone.

All that was left was the Still Point — motionless, lightless, silent.

After a little while, gradually, the lights began to reappear. One by one, as each re-ignited, each blazed brightly, as though charged by an unaccustomed exhilaration. But, a moment later, each light began to flicker unsteadily, as though confused or uncertain where it was or what it was.

And then each light remembered.

And one by one, each light flushed, first rose, then crimson. Each light recalled everything: Who it had been, where it had been, and all it had done. And as it remembered, each light burned red with shame. And that day, the Rose of Heaven, which had been pure white, turned scarlet.

As to what happened next, there are many stories.

Some say that the lights surged forward and clamored that they might be allowed to “Try once more,” and so they return again and again, always seeking to “perfect” themselves.

Some say that many — those whose flames turned the deepest red — removed themselves from the Rose, and made a place apart where the depth of their shame would not be a distinction.

Others say that the choruses were so angry with the Light Bearer that they drove him from the Rose.

And some claim that the circles of light merely resumed their twirling, submerging what might have been an unpleasant memory in artful motion and music.

Still others say that the story was nothing but a story.

But all agree on this: Whatever might have become of the lights within the Rose of Heaven, at the center of it all the Still Point remains — motionless, lightless, silent.