Walking the Path of the Lion: Attributes of a Prophet Unlike the other chapters, this one does not focus on solely on virtues. The lion is not merely a symbol of character growth, he is a bearer of divine assignment. Where virtues are cultivated over time, attributes are carried from the moment a prophet is called. They are not earned through moral discipline.

They are endured through fire, born of isolation, pain, and conviction. A prophet may also grow in virtue, but what defines him most is the burden he holds, the fire he carries, and the heart he refuses to let go of. This path is heavier, not cleaner. It is not about becoming better. It is about holding fast to what burns inside you when everything around you says let it go.

Fire The lion carries fire in his chest, not the destructive kind, but the unquenchable kind. The kind that speaks when it would be easier to stay silent. The kind that roars even when no one listens. This fire is not about rage or ego, it is the ache to reveal truth, no matter the cost. Prophets are rarely popular. Often misunderstood. But the fire stays lit even when the crowd walks away.

Ask yourself: Is there something in you that won’t die, no matter how long it’s been ignored? Something that still burns, even when no one sees it?

Burden The lion doesn’t choose the burden, the burden chooses him. It doesn’t ask for permission, and it doesn’t leave just because it’s heavy. This is the part most people don’t see when they look at a prophet. They hear the roar, but they don’t feel the weight in the ribs.

The burden is the message, the responsibility, the call to keep walking even when the path leads through rejection, exile, or silence. A prophet walks with this weight long before anyone sees its value. Long before they’re believed. Long after they’re dismissed.

Ask yourself: What weight have you been carrying that nobody else can see? Do you walk with it because it’s yours… or because it’s right?

Heart To walk the path of the lion, you must not lose your heart, even when the fire burns too long and the burden grows too deep. Heart is what keeps the prophet from turning bitter. It’s what separates the voice of truth from the voice of pride.

A prophet speaks hard things, but still hopes. Still aches. Still loves. Even when it costs everything. A lion without heart becomes a tyrant. A prophet without heart becomes a warning, not a light.

Ask yourself: When the fire hurts and the burden isolates you, does your heart remain open? Do you still feel? Still love? Still believe it’s worth it, even when no one believes in you?

To walk the path of the Lion is not to seek virtue alone but to endure what most could never carry. The Prophet doesn’t shine because the world lifts him up, but because he refuses to dim even when it crushes him down. These aren’t ornaments of character, they’re the scars of surviving the silence. Fire that doesn’t flicker. A burden that doesn’t break. A heart that doesn’t close. That’s the Lion’s legacy. And if you’re still standing, if you’re still listening — then maybe, just maybe, it’s yours too.

A Parable of the Strawberry from the Well

There once was a young lioness who wandered far from her pride. She wasn’t banished, and she wasn’t broken, but something inside her stirred — a hunger that wasn’t for food, and a thirst that water couldn’t quench.  She roamed the edge of the savannah where the trees grew twisted and the shadows whispered old truths.    

There, half-buried in the dust, she discovered a forgotten well. It was dry to the world above but still alive beneath the surface.

From the cracks in its stone, something unexpected had grown — not a thorn or a vine, but a single wild strawberry. Bright. Red. Sacred.   She had never tasted fruit before, but something in its scent reached past her logic and into her memory, as if she had once known this sweetness in another life.     She took one bite, and the world changed, not the sky, not the ground, but her.

She blinked and saw what she had become: not just a lioness, but a patchwork of spots, scars from battles she thought she’d forgotten, marks from lessons she thought she’d buried.

But as the strawberry’s juice touched her tongue, the spots began to fade.     Not all at once, and not in shame, but gently, like dusk giving way to dawn.   Each spot that fell away took with it an old belief: that she had to fight to be seen, that she had to roar to be heard, that she had to hide her softness to survive.

And what remained beneath the spots was something whole.     Not a predator. Not a prize. But a queen. Her stride grew quieter, but stronger. Her gaze softened, but steadied. She was no longer searching for a place to belong, she had become the place. The well.

A Proverb for a Lion’s Heart

A lion is not just a king, but a prophet, not for his roar, nor his crown of mane, nor his courage, but for the burden he bears, the fire he guards, and the heart he refuses to harden. His strength is sacrifice, and his rule is love.
A Parable of the Lion with One Eye In a land where the sun burned bright and the shadows stretched long, there was a lion with a single eye. His right eye was sharp and clear, seeing only what lay before him. With this eye, he became the strongest among the pride, a leader of lions who moved with purpose and power.
He hunted well, defended his own, and his roar echoed through the savannah. But his vision was half-formed, and the world appeared to him in halves, strength without softness, strategy without reflection. One day, a storm swept through the land, turning the riverbanks to mud and bending the grasslands low.
The lion stood firm, his single eye fixed on the horizon, but he could not see the storm’s end. His pride looked to him for guidance, but he had no answers, for his eye saw only the path forward, not the dangers beneath his feet or the safety in stillness.
As the rain poured, the lion felt something shift within him. He closed his right eye and, in the darkness, the Divine spoke to him. The voice told him to still his movements and listen to his own heart. In that calm moment his heart told him to change course. When he opened his eyes again, he saw not just with his right eye but with both. His left eye awakened, revealing not only the world outside but also the world within.
His vision softened, and he saw his pride not as followers but as family. He saw the land not as territory but as home. With his new sight, he led differently. He moved not just with strength but with wisdom. When the storm ended, the land bloomed, and so did he. His mane, once a crown of dominance, became a symbol of his heart, the outline of his head forming a gentle curve, the shape of a heart.
His roar, still strong, now held warmth, and his pride drew close, not out of fear but out of love. As time passed, the lion became known as the king with two eyes. Other animals came to him not just for protection but for counsel. He taught them that to see with only one eye is to live half a life, but to see with both is to live fully.
He showed them that strength without wisdom is a sword without a handle, sharp but dangerous to the one who wields it. And so, under the watchful gaze of the lion with the heart-shaped mane, the land thrived. His story spread through the whispers of the wind and the songs of the birds, teaching all who listened that true kingship is not about the might of the roar but the depth of the heart.

The Guidance of the Lion

The Lion does not merely roar for himself — he roars to awaken others. From Leonardo’s notes we learn that the Lion shakes his cubs awake, teaching them to use their hidden senses. In this we find our first guidance: to stir what lies dormant within, to rise from comfort into courage.

The Lion also walks with caution, covering his tracks so that enemies cannot follow. Here the guidance shifts from boldness to wisdom. Not every thought must be spoken, not every plan revealed. The Lion teaches us the strength of discretion — the power to guard what is still growing within us until the right moment to reveal it.

Even in danger, the Lion adapts. When hunters press close, he deceives their chase, turning his head to erase his own trail. We are guided to remember that courage does not mean rigidity. To endure is to be creative, to bend without breaking, to use both roar and ruse in harmony.

Finally, the Lion sleeps with eyes open. His guidance is vigilance: never to lose awareness even in rest. He reminds us that life’s tests arrive unexpectedly, and those who keep watch will not be easily shaken.

In all this the Lion’s guidance is clear — awaken your inner strength, walk with both courage and wisdom, adapt when pressed, and remain watchful. Then your roar will not only guard your own path, but also give direction and protection to those who follow.

Blessun of the Lion

May the eyes of the lion grant you vision, to see beyond fear, into the horizon of possibility.

May the heart of the lion give you courage, to face every challenge with steadfast resolve.

May the spirit of the lion keep you noble, guiding your steps with honor, pride, and dignity.

May the roar of the lion awaken strength, teaching you when to speak with power, and when to stand in quiet authority.

May the might of the lion carry you onward, through deserts, storms, and trials, undaunted in your destiny.

And may the soul of the lion remind you always: you are chosen to lead, for the pride stands with you, and the Great Spirit guards your throne.

Blessun of the Lioness

May the eyes of the lioness grant you vision, to watch over what is yours with steady grace.

May the heart of the lioness give you courage, to rise when danger comes, unafraid to defend.

May the spirit of the lioness teach you strength, to carry the burdens of others and still walk proud.

May the voice of the lioness remind you of truth, that power without love is hollow, but love with power is unbreakable.

May the steps of the lioness guide you with dignity, so that every place you tread remembers your presence.

And may the soul of the lioness whisper always: you are protector, nurturer, and queen, born to guard life with both ferocity and tenderness.

1.

Leonardo’s Note:
“The lion with its resounding roar rouses its cubs on the third day after their birth and teaches them the use of all their dormant senses, and all the wild creatures which are in the forest flee away.”

Reflection:
Growth takes awakening. The Lion does not allow its young to slumber forever — it shakes them awake to their senses and their calling. Likewise, life’s roar often startles us into awareness, forcing us to discover strength we didn’t know we carried. Courage awakens when comfort ends.

2.

Leonardo’s Note:
“The lion covers over his tracks so as to leave nothing to indicate his course to his enemies. So it is well for captains that they should conceal the secrets of their minds, in order that the enemy may have no conception of their plans.”

Reflection:
Wisdom is strength guarded. The Lion’s hidden steps remind us that not every move should be revealed. Silence and strategy protect what is sacred. Leadership isn’t only about boldness; it is also about the discipline to withhold, to choose the right moment to strike or to speak.

3.

Leonardo’s Note:
“The lion, if he sees himself discovered by the chase, destroys the traces of his tail with his head, and by this means he deceives the hunters.”

Reflection:
Even the strongest adapt when threatened. The Lion teaches that power is not recklessness but adaptability. To endure, we sometimes must confuse the paths that lead to us, breaking patterns that others rely on. True courage blends with cunning — the roar and the ruse together keep us free.

4.

Leonardo’s Note:
“The lion sleeps with open eyes, in order that no one may surprise him.”

Reflection:
Alertness is a form of strength. To rest without surrender, to sleep without losing awareness, is to live with a watchful spirit. The Lion shows us that courage is not naivety — it is vigilance, even in times of rest. Keep your eyes open to what moves around you, and you will not be caught unprepared.