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 drive you to do it

Let me go, you must do it

I want virile love—yet is it my end?

I want liberation, but is liberation damnation?

Is it a farce I am “called” to play? 

There is no love—it is all farce

Which one feels when made servant to a hollow will


I feel no peace except for an empty monotony

Or would I feel some peace?

Is it because I am sinful?

I cannot stand to be near her too long

It drags

Oh, it drags

I have no heart for her


To pursue her is meaningless

To let go is to be damned—or am I presuming the Will?

Why? 

I cannot let her go

I cannot lead her on—and yet

Meaningless overlapping circles 

Venn diagram, terror!

No commonality—some vague overlap

Similarities being all superficial


I do not even like her

Love: to give one’s whole self

Yet I am called to love someone

The good trumps desire always—correct?

No more allegories, blunt reality manifests 

Infinitely caged, all directions in


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