Tag: Heroine's Journey

READERS NOTE: Seductive New Romantic Fantasy, THE CHAMBER OF CURIOSITIES  is now available. Be the first to read, review and discuss the provocative book. The love story between a charismatic carnival giant and a beautiful aerialist blends the romance of Beauty and the Beast and intensity of Game of Thrones. Many taboo themes and sinful acts are explored including:

1. Cheating hero
2. Adultery and infidelity
3. Older woman/younger man
4. Crazy Love
5. Obsessive/Possessive/Jealous men and women
6. Forced Love
7. Alpha Males
8. Betrayal
9. Powerful Alpha Females
10. Winged Human

It is an erotic tale, a love story, and filled with adventure and self-empowerment.

In a recent interview at the Ashland Shakespeare Festival in Oregon I was asked about the character of Ruth Sandeley, wife of wealthy Ramey Sandeley in [amazon_link id="0982500203" target="_blank" container="" container_class="" ]The House on Black Lake[/amazon_link]. Here are my thoughts:

Note: Photographs of the seductive new trapeze trick, "The Heroine's Journey"  can be viewed at end of article. Cinematic trailer of novel may be viewed on Home Page. Photograph courtesy of David Miller Photography.

A dramatic new flying trapeze trick, "The Heroine's Journey", choreographed by Tanya Henkle-Hoover, and performed by Tanya, Keith Hoover, and Marek Kaszuba, of Trapeze Pro at author Sam Keen's Sky Ranch in Sonoma, has been created for a new music video. The sensuous trick is a representation of the heroine's experience at the climax of The House on Black Lake. It is a stunning trick, and the physical beauty of the performers adds much impact.

The trick has been likened to "The Piggyback", but it is decidedly different, not only in execution but also intent. "The Piggyback" flying trapeze trick looks pretty much like a piggyback looks on the ground. A flier takes the bar, while a second flier mounts him from the back, with legs crossed around his waist and arms around the neck. The first flier swings out and the piggyback flier is caught by the catcher. It is a dramatic trick, rarely done, and usually involves two men.

"The Heroine's Journey" is more physically complex and has emotional components. It can only be performed with a woman on the back of a man - as it is the heroine's journey. Directions for performing the trick:

Heroine is drawn by flier onto his back, her legs wrap around his hips and feet come together beneath his crotch, with toes pointed. One arm wraps beneath his pectoral, the other around his shoulder, and her hands meet at his heart.  Flier takes off from board and Heroine releases her arms and flips under him, holding on with her legs until the last second, then straightens her legs as she is caught by catcher. The trick can end here, or for the more experienced a second part of the choreography is even more complex. They go into swing doubles, where Heroine moves into an angle, the flier goes into an uprise, and they touch hands. Heroine and catcher do a pike, wrap,  and climb to a swinging drop, as the flier falls to net.

The trick can end here, or enter into an even more sophistacted act, combining the skills of flying and static trapeze performance. Heroine and catcher begin a  sensuous static doubles routine representing the "Dangerous Game" (song title) of love. Details of the choreography for the doubles performance are not yet available. However, there are photographs taken as the static trapeze act was being filmed.

Recently, I met a woman who asked me what my novel was about. I explained it was the tale of a woman who had become disfigured after childbirth, and made a vow at a shrine, Truth for Beauty - a promise to fulfill her manifest destiny in return for an unmarked face.  Her beauty is restored, but as she begins to seek a  rightful path her "perfect" life falls apart. The woman's marriage ends in a devastating divorce, and her life, she has known it, is destroyed. The novel explores her transformation as she is lured into the Montreal underground, educated by the mystics and gypsies, and through self discovery begins a dramatic transformation.

"Why should I care about a spoiled woman who gives up a perfect life, destroys a marriage, and uproots her children to seek her own selfish destiny? she replied with vehemence.

"But", I explained, "she made a vow at St. Joseph's Shrine, Truth for Beauty - a promise to seek her truthful destiny in return for unparalyzed face."

The woman shook her head and looked disgusted, as though I was one of the tawdry, spoiled women the media parades out, like witches deserving a good sacrifice at the stake. Of couse, I realized she was from a country with a strong caste system and different values than my own. Yet, I knew her thoughts were shared by many, if not most women in the world  To walk away from wealth and power and the oppression it carries is hard for many woman to understand, or find any degree of empathy.

In the prelude of the novel my protagonist Alexandra describes how her husband removes her long white coat and smoothes the wrinkles from her dress, a sign of control over her image. When she leaves him he uses his wealth to destroy her finacially and take their children. She eventually becomes an outcast, with no possibility of creating a new life in the old system. She has no choice but to seek the destiny she promised at the shrine, and take the heroine's journey. There is no selfishness in her motives, rather a sacred quest to be true to herself, and by doing so help to illuminate others.

Our forefathers did the same thing, as do all revolutionaries, yet their causes are not generally deemed "selfish". So, why then is a woman to be distained when she seeks the same kind of freedom from oppression and desire for illumination?

We must believe in freedom at any cost if we are to live in the land of the free.  How can we live free is we are slaves to a man or a lifestyle, chained by money and greed. Each woman must ask the same question of herself, whether rich or poor. The blood  men shed as they fight for their freedom is also shed by woman, but invisible to the eye.

Would you chose TRUTH or BEAUTY? If you answered the former you will find beauty. If you answered the latter, there will be no truth, and your beauty will fade as your destiny is lost to time.

“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. . .” is the most quoted opening line from Daphne du Maurier classic gothic romance, “Rebecca”.  The novel, which was written during her husband’s tenure in Alexandria, Egypt and published in 1938 in the UK, is one of the most well known examples of gothic romance.

“While working as the companion to a rich American woman vacationing on the French Riviera she becomes acquainted with a wealthy Englishman, Maximilian (Maxim) de Winter. After a fortnight of courtship, she agrees to marry him, and after the marriage accompanies him to his mansion, the beautiful West Country estate Manderley.

Only upon their arrival at Manderley does the new bride realize how difficult it will be to lay to rest the memory of her husband's first wife, Rebecca. Rebecca is understood to have drowned in a sailing accident off the coast next to the mansion a year before, but her memory has a strong hold on the estate and all of its inhabitants and visitors, especially the domineering housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers, one of literature's most infamous female villains.

Mrs. Danvers, who was profoundly devoted to Rebecca, tries to undermine the second Mrs. de Winter, suggesting to her that she will never attain the urbanity and charm that Rebecca possessed. Whenever the new Mrs. de Winter attempts to make changes at Manderley, Mrs. Danvers describes how Rebecca ran Manderley when she was alive. Each time Mrs. Danvers does this, she implies that the new Mrs. de Winter lacks the experience and knowledge necessary for running an important estate such as Manderley. The second Mrs. de Winter is cowed by Mrs. Danvers' imposing manner and complies with the housekeeper's suggestions.

Lacking self-confidence and overwhelmed by her new life, the protagonist commits one faux pas after another, until she is convinced that Maxim regrets his impetuous decision to marry her and is still deeply in love with the seemingly perfect Rebecca. The climax occurs at Manderley's annual costume ball. Mrs. Danvers manipulates the protagonist into wearing a replica of the dress shown in a portrait of one of the former inhabitants of the estate—the same costume worn by Rebecca to much acclaim the previous year, shortly before her death.

In the early morning hours after the ball, the storm that had been building over the estate leads to a shipwreck. A diver investigating the condition of the wrecked ship's hull discovers the remains of Rebecca's boat. It is just prior to this shipwreck that Mrs. Danvers reveals her contempt for and dislike of the second Mrs. de Winter. Taking the second Mrs. de Winter on a tour of Rebecca's bedroom, her wardrobe and luxurious possessions, which Mrs. Danvers has kept intact as a shrine to Rebecca, she encourages the second Mrs. de Winter to commit suicide by jumping out of an upstairs window, but is thwarted at the last moment by the disturbance created by the shipwreck.

The revelations from the shipwreck lead Maxim to confess the truth to the second Mrs. de Winter; how his marriage to Rebecca was nothing but a sham; how from the very first days of their marriage, the husband and wife loathed each other. Rebecca, Maxim reveals, was a cruel and selfish woman who manipulated everyone around her into believing her to be the perfect wife and a paragon of virtue. She repeatedly taunted Maxim with sordid tales of her numerous love affairs and suggested that she was pregnant with another man's child, which she would raise under the pretence that it was Maxim's and he would be powerless to stop her. Maxim, truly hating her, shot Rebecca and disposed of her body on her boat, which he then sank at sea. The narrator is relieved to hear that Maxim had never loved Rebecca, but really loves his new wife.

Rebecca's boat is raised and it is discovered that holes had been deliberately drilled in the bottom and the sea-cocks were opened, which would have caused it to sink. There is an inquest and despite it not being clear who drilled the holes, a verdict of suicide is brought. However, Rebecca's first cousin (and also her lover) Jack Favell appears on the scene claiming to have proof that Rebecca could not have intended suicide. Favell attempts to blackmail Maxim because he believes that Maxim killed Rebecca and then sank the boat.

Rebecca, it is revealed, had an appointment with a Doctor Baker shortly before her death, presumably to confirm her pregnancy. When the doctor is found he reveals Rebecca had been suffering from cancer and would have died within a few months; furthermore, due to the malformation of her uterus, she could never have been pregnant. The implication is that knowing she was going to die, Rebecca lied to Maxim that she had been impregnated by another man because she wanted Maxim to kill her. Maxim feels a great sense of foreboding and insists on driving through the night to return to Manderley. However, before he comes in sight of the house, it is clear from a glow on the horizon and wind-borne ashes that it is ablaze.

It is evident at the beginning of the novel that Maxim and the second Mrs. de Winter now live in some foreign exile. The events recounted in the book are in essence a flashback of the narrator's life at Manderley.”

The novel did not receive critical acclaim when it was published, although the novel was very popular. It continues to this day to be a pristine example of the gothic romance genre which include supernatural forces, a woman trapped, repressed sexuality, powerfully erotic undertones, and a charismatic male with unclear intentions. Most notable in “Rebecca” is the figure of Mrs. Danvers, a female antagonist obsessed with the diseased Rebecca, who incorporates a homoerotic thread that seeks to break the bond of male and female. The book was translated into a stage play by du Maurier and subsequently adapted to film and television. The story is a classic tale that in its essence explores the unequal power of a man and woman.

Plot summary from Wikipedia

One can only imagine the entrance to Sarah Palin's Parlor. Likely it is homey, filled with the smell of freshly cook jam, and the stuffed and mounted relics of her gamesmanship - perhaps like the picture featured below.

The photograph was taken in the parlor of the Chateau Tivoli in San Francisco while shooting film trailer for scene in “The House on Black Lake”.  In novel protagonist Alexandra Brighton is ushered into the stately summer home of Ruth and Ramey Sandeley and is aghast to see the lineup of exotic animal head trophies and artifacts decorating the elegant room. Ruth tells Alexandra that her husband believes when you look into a powerful animal’s eyes and take its life you are bound forever. Of course, this is not a good omen for Alexandra.

 Most hunters keep a souvenir of victims when they kill for sport, and not for survival. Yet, rarely do women lust for blood. “A woman gives life, and God, the father, takes it”, Ramey informs Alexandra. In the course of her journey she is betrayed by women with a thirst for second hand power and ultimately led into a patriarchal trap. Sarah Palin's hunting partner is not her mother, sister, or girl friend - it is her father. In her videotaped journey she finds a pioneer soul sister squatting in the depths of the Antarctic, who sews her own  flesh wounds and professes to love blood and guts in the manner in which other woman covet jewels. She is not a not bold feminist in a frontier land, but rather a conservative leader in a modern world. She does not shoot for sustenance, but rather for the glory of the kill, and the camera that records the killings seeps a taste of the barbaric into mainstream experience. A female who gives and takes life for sport is clearly an anomaly, in all of nature. Dominance cannot succeed without its hand maidens, and there are rewards for those who are willing to play the game. What the protagonist in the story does not realize is that she is the trophy. In the course mankind's recorded history the display of a sacrificed victim has always been a symbol of power and domination.

 Perhaps it is time for Sarah to clean her parlor of the relics of domination and fill it with trophies of empowerment. When she puts down the rifle and embraces mother earth, all creatures will feel more secure. A female role model that embodies the unique powers of the feminine, while igniting the loftier attributes of the male, carries the hope of a remarkable new world order.

A perfect  example of power play between a man and a woman can be found in "The House on Black Lake".  In chapter twenty-two, titled "The Beast In The Cage", Alexandra Brighton and Ramey Sandeley engage in a fierce power enchange that leaves each altered and prepared to take their relationship to the next level.

Following is complete chapter:

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Beast in the Cage

I watch a myriad of my reflections in the eyes of the exotic stuffed animals, as I move through the entryway.

          “Where have you been, Alexandra?”

            He moves up behind me, baring touching.

          “What are doing up so late, Ramey?”

          “I might ask you the same question. St. Agathe closes up tight by ten o’clock, unless you’ve been invited to a private party.” 

          “I was invited to a private party.”

          “Was it good?”

          “Beyond words.”

          Ramey digs his fingers into my arm and swings me around to face him. He looks dreadful, with hair sticking up in tufts, the corners of his lips caked with dried blood, and his T-shirt stained with perspiration. What is more alarming are the gray hairs mingling in the growth of stubble on his chin - the first sign of anything that has staked a claim on his perfection. A wave of repulsion rides up my spine and spikes a fit of nausea, disgust unfathomable in my former carnation. The God has fallen from his pedestal. This grim satyr looks and smells like nothing more than a filthy drunk.

          “I need to talk to you; come back to my room.”

          “Take your hands off me. Enough is enough! I don’t welcome the sexual advances of my friend’s husband, or anyone else’s for that matter.”

          “You sure rode in on a high horse.”

           “I’ve paid a high price for my freedom, unlike you. I have no respect for men who seek the safety of the cage and the thrill of the wild, but don’t have the courage to commit to either.”

          “Don’t lecture me, dear.”

          “Fuck you, Ramey.”

          “I don’t take seconds.”

          “Is that so?”

          “What’s that supposed to mean?

          “Where’s Ruth?”

          “She stayed the night in Montreal.”

          He digs his fingers deeper into my arm and guides me roughly through the house.

          “I said no! Let go of me.”

          “Quiet. You’ll wake the children,” he says, then draws me inside the room and engages the bolt lock.

           “Sit down.”

          “I prefer to stand.”

          “Suit yourself, baby.”

          He moves to a hanging chair, upholstered in brocade, with interlocking chains connected to hooks in the ceiling. 

          “I’ve seen your little warlock’s den, Ramey. What are you, some kind of wizard?”

          “I have a fascination with science and magic. Does that frighten you?” he says, and sits in the chair with legs spread wide.

          “You don’t frighten me.”

          “Did you fuck Andre Labat?”

          “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Ramey.”

          “Answer the question.”

          I’m silent.

          He rides his hands up the chain and draws a tongue over cracked lips.

          “I’m disappointed; I thought you had higher standards.”

          “Why did you row me out to stay in the house on the island?”

          “I love a good game. Terror and Titillation is one of my favorites. I also like Pain and Pleasure. They’re goal posts on the same playing field. Rowing you out on the lake and leaving you there, was like tying you up without tethers. The thought of you alone and frightened got me off - knowing I could set you free . . . or not.”

          “You have a very sick mind.”

          “Freedom can only be attained through absolute containment. The body is a vessel for the soul and the soul is the conduit to the spiritual world. When your body is contained, your soul is released. The soul’s escape is a powerful, life-changing event. And when it happens, there is no turning back.”  

           He stops the motion of the chair.

          “Don’t pretend you don’t understand.” He gets up from the chair and moves across the room to where I stand next to the door.

         “You know exactly what I mean, don’t you? You’ve had a taste of it, haven’t you?”

           I clasp the palm of my hand against my chest to calm my wildly beating heart. 

          “It started in the house, didn’t it? And last night in the hallway, you went there with me, didn’t you?”  

           “Is this the warlock talking? Or do you worship a darker deity?”

          “Yes, it’s happened, Alexandra. That’s why you fell for the pathetic charms of Andre Labat. But giving yourself to that little worm is like a sailor dipping his cup in the sea when he’s dying of thirst. He’ll never be able to quench what I see in you.”

           He stands only inches from me now - so close a bead of sweat drops from his forehead onto my cheek.

         “I made love to Ruth the night we left you on the island and pretended she was you.”

          “Save your confessions for your satanic priest.” 

          “But you had to fuck with it and move into my basement.”  

          “Nothing matters to you, does it, other than satisfying your perverted needs?” I say, and turn to walk out the door. 

          “I didn’t give you permission to leave yet.”

          He blocks my movement to the door.

         “You stay in my house, eat my food, drive my car, and expect me to babysit your son so you can go out and fulfill your perverted needs?”

          “I refuse to defend myself. You invited me to stay in your home. I’m your guest. I will be leaving soon, so you shall be relieved of your burden shortly. And with whom I choose to share my bed is certainly none of your concern. I’m a single woman and free to do whatever I desire. I was once contained, but I had the guts to release myself. You, on the other hand, are completely contained. You wear on your hand the gold band of ownership, proof you’ve been tamed. You are no different than your marked and pierced livestock. You have no claim on freedom. You’re branded, Ramey.” 

          The look in his eyes terrifies me. They are the eyes of a killer.

         “Listen, Ramey, I’m tired and you’re drunk, and this isn’t the best time to have a discussion. We can talk tomorrow if you like, preferably with your wife present. Now, please move away from the door . . . I need to check on Sammy.”

           Ramey’s perfect teeth glimmer inside his parted lips.

          “I want you to consent to a punishment for your behavior, for being such an ungrateful houseguest. Five lashes would be fair, wouldn’t you agree?”

          “This has gone far enough.”

          “Have you ever taken a beating?” 

          “What are you saying?”

          “Have you ever taken corporal punishment from a lover?”

          “I have no idea - ”

           He gestures the bed against the wall, a four-poster bed swathed in yards of parachute silk and covered with a plush crimson duvet and lace pillows.

          “You’re acting crazy, Ramey. I’m leaving.”

           “You walk out that door and I’m taking you and your son to the airport tonight.” He spits out while grabbing my arm.

          “Get out of my way. I’m leaving this room."

          “Go . . .” he says, motioning to the door. As I turn to leave, he whisks me up into his arms and carries me across the room to throw me roughly onto the bed.

          Like a prodded beast inside its cage he paces the room. His eyes glow, dark gray eyes transformed to a vivid gold. Or perhaps the change in color is a reflection of the flames from the studded candles stationed on wood pedestals next to the bedposts. 

          “Stand up and bend over,” he orders.

          “No.”

          “There’s only one way for it to happen. We’re the same you know; we’re the same kind.”

          “I’m nothing like your kind.”

          “I haven’t slept since I met you,” he says in a chilling voice. “I wander through a maze of empty houses filled with dark shadows. When I awake in the darkest hours I want to take you into my arms and lose myself inside you. Some nights I feel I might succumb to the gloom and follow the curse of my legacy.”

           He observes me with a strange curiosity, as though he is aware I have been plagued by similar dreams.

          “We’ve been together since the first moment I took your eyes - the night you walked into the crazy house in the desert on the arm of your asshole husband. You looked like an angel dressed in white, with snow falling outside the windows behind you, and Mozart echoing in the rafters - a fucking angel sent on a mission to destroy me. I’ve waited for you a very long time - it feels like more than a lifetime, and perhaps it is. My quest is only to release you I’ll give you what you deserve, and more importantly I’m offering what you need to spread your wings and fly.”

          “You’re not listening to me. I said no! You are not used to hearing that word, so it may sound foreign to a man like you - one who has never been refused.”

          “There is no other way,” he says with calm assurance.  There’s no other way for you to break out, to crack the shell.  You say you’re free, but you’re not. You took off your ring, but you still live inside the cage. Your perfect world was never your own, and now it’s impossible to return. You can refuse, but we both know it has to happen, sooner or later.”

          “Who are you to lecture me about perfect worlds? If you were true to yourself, you’d be living in hell, or at the least in a cave instead of this castle.”

          He stops his pacing and moves to where I sit perched at the edge of his bed. He grazes his hands along the heavy leather belt holding up his jeans and begins to unfasten the buckle.

          “I could tie you up and torture you with love first, but you don’t deserve it.”

          “You’ve tortured me long enough.”

          “Well then, let’s get to it.”

          “How does beating someone free them, for God’s sake?” I ask, and avert my eyes from what is impossible to explain, ignore, or understand, for that matter, the male thing, the strength of not knowing, wanting to know, what lies beneath.

          “It’s a method used by tribes and most civilizations throughout the history of the world. When used in initiation, to help the initiates ascend to a higher level of spiritual awakening. The experience is powerful for both the giver and the receiver.”

          “How do you know?”

          “I’ve experienced it.”

          I struggle to gather my thoughts. I don’t know how to express my feelings, so I let something deeper take over and speak for me. “You may be a sorcerer, but you are neither my master nor my priest. My body and soul are not for your taking. That privilege is earned through trust and commitment. You are correct. I am not yet free. But when I am, I will only supplicate myself to a man who worships me as much as I worship him.”

          I shift my focus to gaze at a picture in a gilded frame, set on the nightstand next to a crystal bowl of fragrant potpourri. It is a photograph of Ruth and Ramey wrapped in each others arms, surrounded by their five young children, standing in front of a Christmas tree trimmed in colorful balls and ribbons and brimming with dozens of gaily wrapped packages. 

          “We’ve been conjoined by fate, and there’s no turning back,” he says, and a strangled thread of emotion seeps into these words, a mixture of sorrow and regret that makes me shudder. 

          There is a long and terrible silence, a silence like no other. It is the stillness after an upheaval, after the squeal of the tires and the sound of the catastrophe. It is the hush when you know your life will never be the same. It is the dead calm when you have crossed the line of time into a new existence. Something has changed. This interlude of sadism has changed me forever. 

          “Look at me . . . look into the pupils of my eyes, Alexandra. They are the only place in the body where you can look inside the mind and see what it is thinking and feeling.” 

           I straighten myself on the downy silk comforter, wipe the tears from my lashes and gaze directly into Ramey’s eyes.  Beyond the fading anger, I see other emotions flicker. There are nuances of more vulnerable feelings, and something else, more profound and meaningful than the vain and shallow substances floating on the surface. A shadow lurks there; a glint of the unspeakable hides beneath the wreckage of his heart. He holds a terrible secret in the unfathomable depths. It is wild, crazy, unbelievable, and eminent, yet I have no idea what it is.

           “You’re moving away from me, baby. It’s like you’ve fallen into the bottom of a well. You’re crouched down there, but I can’t get to you. I can’t save you.”  

          “Forgive me, but you are mistaken. I didn’t ask you to save me.” I stand up from the bed and move across the room.

           “I believe it’s you who’s looking to be saved. You need to save yourself, Ramey,” I say, then turn and walk out the door.

Power Struggle

A new music video titled "Dangerous Games" with music composed by Peter Busboom is now in preproduction. It will feature trapeze artists recreating scene from book where Alexandra finds drawn into the allure of the magic glen, where her union with Ramey Sandeley evolves into a ruthless power struggle. 

THE HOUSE ON BLACK LAKE HAS BEEN ADAPTED TO SCREENPLAY. GO TO HOME PAGE TO VIEW PROVATIVE CINEMATIC TRAILER FEATURING FONTAINE OUTFIT.

Novel/screenplay [amazon_link id="0982500203" target="_blank" container="" container_class="" ]The House on Black Lake[/amazon_link] features the sexy, French look, with a touch of gothic, gypsy.

The clothing worn for seduction scene in "The House on Black Lake" Trailer were designs from Anne Fontaine, a French Canadian designer with boutiques in majors cities of U.S., as well as international appeal. The white ruffled blouse in photographs is a signature look, as well as the cinched patent belt, black pencil skirt, and fitted blazer with lacing at back.

White ruffled Anne Fonteyne louse with patent leather belt.

Anne Fonteyne White Ruffled Blouse, Patent Cinch Belt, Pencis Skirt.

Photograph of Anne Fonteyne Ensemble from "House on Black Lake" Trailer

Is love merely a chemical released when our body senses a desirable reproduction partner, or is there something more divine in the rush of endorphins? That questions in one of the principle themes of my novel.

Reproduction science tells us that within seconds we are measuring every aspect of another being to determine suitability. Overall health, i.e. clear skin, white teeth, shiny hair, clear eyes, etc. are all assessed in the blink of an eye. We also measure physical features, timber of voice, a vast array of clues to whether their DNA is a good match. Smell also comes into play, and with physical touch more information is released. The old saying "it's all in the kiss" is actually true. The saliva carries DNA that tells us the entire physical history of the specimen. We seek mates that will give our offspring the best chance of survival. The rush of love tells us that we have found a good match. Testosterone is released in the saliva of the male and arouses female to complete  act. Love lasts for a good three months, so that at least three tries are given to the quest. The feeling may persist if the act is not successful. If g succeeds, then feelings  transcend to  "love" that is actually routed in the protection of our prized reproduced DNA. This is the belief of science.

Those of a spiritual nature believe that the purpose of love is not to replicate, but to create. Two humans who find love have a far greater capacity to create than they would alone. The goal of most is to find a soul mate, one with whom  common goals and desires are shared.  This may mean the act of reproduction, but in most it means far more. For those who have finished reproducing,  have no desire to raise young, or for those who are drawn to the same sex, the drive for love is just as great, and when a suitable partner is found, the love does not nessasarilydisipate because there is no drive to replicate DNA.

The elusiveness of love remains the subject of scientists and poets. Its beauty and pain are universal. What's love got to do with it? Everything - for without it we are doomed, one way or another.