A re-telling of the true 12th century love story of Heloise and Abelard. Abelard is a great philosopher and theologian who has taken, like many academics of the time, a vow of celibacy. When he is hired as a tutor for the brilliant and beautiful Hel...
"If I spent enough time with the tiniest creature, even a caterpillar, I would never have to prepare another sermon. So full of God is every creature." - Meister Eckhart*
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Marie is standing beside her in the garden. Heloise is picking stems of red roses, forming a bouquet which she holds up to her nose and inhales the scent of. She closes her eyes in delight, and passes them to Marie, ushering her to do the same. In Heloise's eyes is nothing but wisdom as deep as the ocean, and kindness beyond measure. The more Marie gathers the pieces of her story, the more she cannot believe that this - this humble woman, beautiful but robed, silent but with eyes screaming of fire - is here, in Marie's company. She cannot believe the great Heloise has chosen to spend the warm hours of the afternoon - every afternoon! - by her side. And what's more, she cannot believe Heloise seems to be enjoying it.
Marie takes in the scene around them. They are in the vibrant courtyard gardens, and walls of stone tower over the green. But these walls do not seem so foreboding - so enclosing - anymore. They seem almost warm, almost homey. Marie can feel the sun they radiate - rays of heavenly light falling to her from the walls and from everything within them. She does not know how these walls came to be but she is certain now, in knowing Heloise, that they were built in love. "But Heloise, this is called the Paraclete..."
"Yes, my girl. We will get to that story soon. You must have patience," she feigns a hint of annoyance, and nudges Marie's shoulder with a smile.
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"I wish I could write your story, Heloise..." Marie finally says, admiring her new friend with a love tinged with regret. She wishes she could have inscribed every word of hers from the beginning.
"Ha," Heloise laughs to herself, and she's now moving to trim the hedges. Rusting pliers slice in deliberate strokes through the foliage, and the brush of leaves fall to their feet. "Trust me, enough words have been written and written and written. Don't worry about capturing things of this world so much. You can't hold them all anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you can hold them, but not forever. You can't hold anything of this world forever. All these books will be dust. You and I will be dust, too!" Marie is taken aback by the lightheartedness of Heloise's tone as she speaks these words, her eyes fixed to the branches before her and her smile almost peaceful. These ideas make Marie feel anything but peaceful. She wants to hold all of life, she does not want to think of its temporariness. "Oh don't look at me like that," Heloise laughs, as if she can read Marie's mind. "It's a beautiful thing. Everything fades, eventually, but what remains?"
