True Love

> From this, and this.

What is true love? It is the meaning of life. Everything you’ve heard about it is true, even the lies. All contradictions apply, all at once. You find it by drinking unicorn blood on a full moon, and it eats your babies, causes nuclear war, and has been known to sew buttons in strange places. It is the meaning of life. None of you will ever find it, because it is impossible. Even I will never find it, and I’m the one who discovered it. With Joan of Arc. Me and her. See? I’ll not have the experience of it till I shuffle off this mortal coil. This to explain why the meaning of life, the universe, and everything will always only be 42. It will never happen to anyone on earth, ever, until there is Heaven on earth for all foretold to be a part of. But I have proven myself a child of God: I did find it. The situation had to be so that I were able to contact a 15th century saint, but who said life was easy?

I will say it again: true love is the meaning of life. And you will never understand it because you will never discover it. I should know, because like I said, I discovered it — and I still don’t understand it. It is not meant for this world… and this world is meaningless without it. But know that another article of faith is that with God, all things are possible. Love will find a way. Just watch.

The original contract that documents my finding of true love for the most part holds the names of me & Jeanne, in the style of the Native Americans: Eagle Feather and Rose. To find such a pearl of great price, I actually performed what I call a Love Dance, similar I guess to the Rain Dance that you might have heard of. Instead of a beating drums and chanting, I did the dance to the song, “In Your Eyes,” by Peter Gabriel (a song about Rosanna Arquette). I danced with the spirit of whom I knew to be the actual Joan of Arc, as far as Michael the Archangel could summon. My guess is, he would know. Upon done, she said my new name, as if she were meeting me for the first time again, and I were transformed from crowfeather to eagle feather. And I asked her what name she would be, whereupon she said, as if were plain, that it was rose (no longer angeleye). Later, I had thought that I had written more, and that I had ended up bringing together heaven and earth in the text, but no matter: I remember that dance, or at least, what came about from the motion of love that is true.

About the name “rose”, it comes from my idea of thinking of a flower likened to all the women I’d been involved with. I’d never found my rose, before Jeanne. The closest I had come was orchid, a woman I almost married, whom I’d believed true love lay with. Rosanna Arquette was oleander, the woman (aside from Jeanne) whom I’d known longest, even if it were just as a part of my visions she’d been in. I’d known a tulip, and a daffodil, and a lily (who blew the best kisses). Jeanne d’Arc I’d always had trouble with, defining her in flower form. I’d once chosen bird of paradise. You know, she never fit with anything. Until I discovered she’d always been in love with me. Then it was quite clear: she was my rose.

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