Annotation, H.D.:”Pilate’s Wife”

–For Veronica, and the imagined ‘I am’–

It is thus, always, that the love-gods come.
The lily remains a mere flower until its essence is sought, when in the love-death of the chase, in the unfolding of petals that is beyond a flowering or a death-widening, the grace of Life and Beauty come together to form in one maw the ‘Yea’ and ‘Nay’ of the guarded door.
It is thus, always, that the love-gods come.
I sought answers to questions unuttered, withheld, circumnavigated, and arrived by the hairpin bend of ‘not’-ness to the catacombs of the heart. As always.
This ecstasy like no other. This ecstasy again. It is thus, always, that the love-gods come.
Secret, inviolate, most open of cellas. The Bee, the Flower, the Self-made Honeycomb. Perfect cameo of great mystery. Na iti, na iti. And yet what other mystery is there.
Thus, always, now. I will it, just thus.

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