BEAUTY TO THE BEAST

(A few words on the process of individuation)

I keep the white flower of your affection on my breast
That its perfume may breathe throughout my dreams.
No desiccated Lawrentian chrysanthemum,
But a fragile mystic rose,
Which, through some fragrant, vital alchemy
      Has never faded--
      Petals soft as the flesh of the belle I was...
      Odour mellow-sweet,
    Synthesizable to an attar, but
            Unreproduceable.

Perhaps it's your blanchefleur that's kept me jung and unafreud,
For Carl was right in his surmise of women--
Until I recognized the prince you are,
(Though it took years)
I had no clear idea who I was.
And yet for years the rose remained my confidante,
My inarticulate friend
Mandala for my meditative moods--
Lavaliere of a love lost in the past,
Though found again at last.

At times you seem to evidence concern
That I'll be damaged by your strong desires--

Ah, non, mon amour, tu n'es pas mon bete noire--
Tu es mon bon ami, mon cher, mon prince ...
Mon bete!

I AM ANIMA

by Honora Finkelstein