But they shared a common bond, what is referred to as esoteric Christianity. They both had an affection for the Christian mystic poets, John Donne, T. S. Eliot, Rainer Maria Rilke. As well, both had an interest in the mystic philosophers --- Jacob Boehme, Thomas Merton, and Ladislaus Boros. Their greatest favorite is one who might be thought of as at the furthermost edge of mystical (and not necessarily Christian) thinking --- G. I. Gurdjieff.

Bourgeault and "Rafe" were only together for a brief time (he died of a heart attack in 1996) but their time together was strange, explosive, and ultimately, immensely rewarding --- both for them and for the reader of this book. This is how she describes their first meeting:

We stood there in the monastery barnyard --- I remember he had one blue boot on and one orange boot --- and for more than an hour we talked, the words flooding forth from some unknown depth in our souls...What remains with me vividly to this day is my recollection of a circle of light that shone out from Rafe and enfolded us both, and the deep sense of comfort and familiarity between us, as if we had somehow always known each other and were merely resuming a conversation that had gone on from eternity.

At Rafe's wake, she says, "I do not know how to explain this, and I do not want to exaggerate..." but, as she sat with him, alone, "there was nothing but love, a gratitude conveyed entirely through the skin --- body to body, will to will."

It was the most profoundly luminous experience I have ever had. All was forgiven, understood, poured out; that which in life had been hidden in the changeability of bodies and emotions became steady and consistent. There was a distinct nuptial feeling to it: a sense that our life together was not ending; it was only now truly beginning. And somewhere in those cold, dark hours, a voice that was distinctly Rafe's came to me saying, "I will meet you...in the body of hope."

Ms. Bourgeault is a profound student of the mystical side of love, much of which she conveys with great felicity here. She sees her love as a union of "broken souls." It cannot be done out of "sheer romanticism, that initial rush of erotic attraction that is all most of us ever know of love." She says it is more of a purification,

The partners adopt the spiritual practice of laying down their lives for each other --- facing their shadows, relinquishing old patterns and agendas, allowing all self-justification to be seen, brought to the light, and released...a sympathetic vibration with the sacrificial and giving love that is the font of all creation.

It is, at least, the "willingness to die...the practice that gradually transmutes erotic attraction into a force of holy fusion."

Ms. Bourgeault is a graceful writer and she builds her two characters impeccably --- herself, and her love, Rafe. She also builds a powerful case for love being closely tied to the divine. Using the passion that the two of them shared as a base, she makes a case for unions that transcend mere sexuality and --- if you will --- mere death. (The word I used was "union." I think, perhaps, that "a merging" would better convey what she is trying to tell us.)

Contrary to what many of her fellow Christians believe, she says that dying is the "awakening to the self: to die is to understand." The moment of death is the soul's "first moment of complete, unanimous coherence:"

The whole picture is opened, ordered around its core principle, and held fully present to itself. The pretenses, the parts tied to the false self and the other energies, disappear with the outer energies themselves. The parts that belong authentically to oneself but have not been fully actualized and integrated in life simply remain dark, like the full of the moon faintly present behind the sliver. And in this timeless instant, backlit against the light of divine love, the soul's true stature is revealed in two dimensions: mobility and majesty.

Ms. Bourgeault's take on love and dying came wonderfully clear to this reader, but all these words would be meaningless if the story of this late-in-life love were in any way dolled up. Not so. Indeed, at times, their on-going affair sounds like a bitter war --- she reaching out and being cut cold, him stomping off, her bitterly attacking his isolation --- and, in a contretemps that she claims was a breakthrough in their love, an actual down-and-dirty wrestling match.

He was trying to leave. She didn't want him to. She tackled him. "There are times," she reports, "even in spiritual practice, when you simply have to break the rules:"

This is the story of one of those times. I share it with a certain hesitancy, for reasons that will become obvious. Beyond any doubt it was my most painful and disgraceful moment with Rafe, a moment of totally losing it.

"For the next half hour or so, we wrestled," she tells us.

I am not talking metaphor here. We spilled down the landing and rolled and writhed around the yard, locked in a desperate contest of wills. I clenched his leg, his arm, holding on for dear life. He brought his boot heel down on my jaw and twisted my wrist so hard I thought it would snap. I screamed but didn't let go...

After a while, our combat began to take on a strange, almost surrealistic configuration. We'd wrestle for a while then rest, sitting at opposite ends of the woodpile, eyeing each other warily. Sometimes we'd exchange a few words. "Can this be love?" I remember wailing at one point, and he shook his head sadly. "I'm gone already," he said. "You try to grab me and you're only holding on to yourself."

There is a rich unity in Love Is Stronger than Death. Part of it is Bourgeault's learning --- in which she can call on the mystics as well as Dylan Thomas, Ouspensky, Dante, the Bible. Another is her rendering of two strong, memorable characters. But best of all is her genuine faith. She relates with certainty the union of "second bodies" a coming together that is in no way diminished by his death --- but, on the contrary, continues to blossom long beyond the grave.

Other friends have flipped out due to drugs or just garden variety living in a world of stressful situations but none with the justification or provocation of the group of characters in this novel.