I’ve just finished reading “The Door into Fire” by Diane Duane again, and I’m touched and transformed by the wisdom within it. I always forget how it speaks to me, how it unfolds and awakens. there is such beauty in the world that is described. I can not hope to do it justice.

Her world, like ours, is flawed. It’s inhabitants are flawed. The very truth of these flaws, their honesty, is refreshing and powerful, but the real beauty comes from an understanding of one of the few truths I hold dear. The power to love is the gift that redeems us as citizens of this universe. All our greatness comes from our emotion, and it is in love that we stand silently victorious over the chaos of the world.

“How She must love us, To share with us all, to give us so very much — I can’t understand it. Just for my own part, even. What incredible thing have I done, or will I do, to earn — to deserve such, such blessing, so much love….”

“You’re reason enough, And besides, She cherishes what’s returned. What could we possibly give the Mother that She couldn’t make better Herself, except love? She could make us love Her — but it wouldn’t be the same.”

This is the Goddess who I want to know. This is the power of a Creatrix, a force of life and love. And where is she to be found in our mythology?” Many names seem close, but who embodies the spirit of love and creation in such a way without also driving headlong into our human flaws?

As Duane writes, our greatest flaw may be that we turn our backs upon the blessings we are given. We consistently beg for love, and then scorn the package it comes in. Some of my own truest moments of suffering have been when I have offered love (with no strings or physical demands) and found the person I was loving unable to see or accept my love. If there is a God or Goddess who transcends our petty failings and selfishness, how must our rejection make hir suffer?

In the last pages of the book Herewiss, the main character, finds himself communing with his Goddess.

(Hearn was right all the time,) he was saying to the night. (Always he used to tell me, ‘When you’re praying, don’t beg the Goddess. What mother can stand hearing her children whine at her? Talk to Her, tell Her what’s on your mind. You’ll always get answers back. Lie to Her and you’ll get lies back — but tell Her the truth and you’ll find solutions.’ And he was right. There is a part of each of us that is part of You — I just never really saw it until last night — and though it speaks in one’s own voice, there is no mistaking the source of the answer.)

Your father is a wise man, the reply drifted back after a while.

Herewiss nodded.

(Herelaf wouldn’t tell me what he was for,) he said. (There can, of course, be no deception on that last Shore — and he did tell me that he might not have been finished. Which leaves me with a conclusion that I find a little frightening. Was he trying to tell me that what he was for — was specifically to be my brother, to die on the end of my sword — and so to begin the events that ended in last night? To make me into what I am now? Was that it?)

The silence drifted around him for a long time.

(It’s not an answer that I like,) he said.

It is the answers we dislike the most, came the reply, that usually have the most truth to them.

(But, Mother, it isn’t fair! Not to him, not to me –)

He knew what the answer was going to be. It was spoken with a little smile, a sad one. Who ever said anything was fair, son of Mine? That’s My fault, and every time I hear that cry, it goes straight through Me. But next time. Next time –

He nodded, sighed. (I’m sorry, Mother, I really feel guilty about complaining. I have so very much: the Fire, my Name… and Yours too. That’s what I’m for — to find Your Name, as much as to find mine.)

That’s a start.

(You’re looking too,) he said in sudden realization. (But it is through we who live that You look. And when all who live find their Names, and all the other pieces of Yours–)

Silence. A star fell.

Herewiss smiled. (My life had been so pointed toward one thing, that I guess I panicked — I was afraid there would be nothing left for me to do. Beorgan’s mistake…. But if this is true, if I am for seeking out Your Name wherever it is to be found, and freeing it, I’m going to be awfully busy. This is a big world….)

… (Mother, mightn’t You have chosen better for the first man to have Flame in all these years? The Fire won’t lessen my flaws — they’ll get bigger, if anything. And even with all this Power — and I know I have much more than the average Rodmistress — can I really change the world that much, will I really be worth it? There’s so little time, so little of me –)

That, and the voice came firmly as that of a mother taking a sharp knife away from a child, that evaluation I reserve for Myself. By the common conception of it, humankind doesn’t consider something “worth it” unless they get their investment back, preferably with a profit. By this criterion, most of the Universe is “not worth it.” But I know — as do all the others who care — and the voice smiled at Herewiss — that it is often necessary to give and give and not get back in any way save the knowledge that the worlds are better for it. Freelorn is right, in that respect. Beaneth was right. Beorgan the doomed was right, so were Earn and Healhra and all the others. They knew they were doomed, but they did the right thing anyway, trying to make the world a little better.

The voice sighed. Valiant absurdity, lost causes, such things may be doomed to incompletion and failure of one kind or another, but they are none of them “wasted.” Judge these things by whether they will prolong the Universe’s life, or bring joy to what I made, and that is their worth. All things must die, but I will not scatter My poor botched creation like a child kicking over a misbuilt sandcastle. I will make it work the best I can.

Herewiss nodded.

(What shall I do now?) he asked.

You’re asking Me? Herewiss could feel a grin stirring somewhere. What should I do?

He grinned back. (Share the gift. Defy the Death.)

The answer was silence.

Share the Gift. Defy the Death.

I can not say I share the authors obsession with entropy. I can’t imagine a universe without the cycles of life and death on grand scales and smaller ones. But the sentiment does not rely on an agreement. Defiance is one of our other noble qualities as humans. Our courage and strength to defy the things that are anathema to us is part of what defines us as a race.

Share the gift. Defy the death.

It’s a reminder to love unconditionally. To love truly and deeply, not with the knowledge that it will cause you suffering, but in defiance of the suffering you know it will cost you.

Our traditional concept of worth is petty and small, and the Goddess reminds Herewiss that creation is a much beigger place, and that our notion of worth is best left to matters equally petty and provincial. When dealing with the cosmic scale, it has no relevance.

Something that I haven’t mentioned, because in the grand beauty of love it seems so small, is one of the most gorgeous outgrowths of this philosophy of love. The culture of the people in the book has no concept of sex as we do. In truth, I don’t think the words “sex” or “marriage” occur in the text once, although the characters share themselves quite liberally, and do occasionally form lasting binary relationships.

The world seen here knows that love is not a matter of gender. It knows also that the act of sharing is not a dirty or shameful one. It is an act of love, and an expression of our joy in each other. While the time-tested themes of jealousy and possessiveness come up a time or two, they seem less than the norm.

Many of the characters in the book pair off eventually, but even in their pairs, there seems to be a general acceptance of sharing being beautiful and welcome outside their diads. Our language does not have an accurate term for the attitude this culture has about sex, but I wish it did, because it is the utopian understanding that I dream of when I dare to dream big.