Thelema, or the Trouble With Marrying Will and Virtue
For what I shall sacrifice is my Will, my Thelema Let me go, or I shall commit to you like an unwilling sacrifice No, you couldn’t take any of that Or that you are a labor of love? Or that I forced myself to love you? But do you want me to say that I was made to love you? Anyone could I cannot say that I could not be made—I could be made I do not want that A matrimony of forced labor A unity of puritan starvation If it is, and I’ve got it turned, then a marriage of drudgery may await I think it may be It cannot be so—but in the pit of my heart Reminding them of the futility of their desires Is this the calling of a Saint, to have one’s spouse as a thorn in their side? Or have I got it wrong? That the Will asks me to burn up all my loves, my peace, my life, for something I do not even like. I cannot believe, try as I might That the Will asks me to burn up all my loves I cannot believe, try as I might Again—let me go You are not mine, I cannot be yours Yet that is abhorrent Or I must