A Starseed Confession (audio 4:10)

The Consecrated One, 1903, Ferdinand Hodler

Written 2012; audio added 2016. A classic, I feel.

i confess that i do not feel native
to this blue-green orb
and i confess that nonetheless
i have come to appreciate my earthly existence
the gentle dance of rain upon my skin
trembling fingers entwined in my own
the splendor of ripened fruit fresh from the tree

i confess that much of my life
has been marked by alienation
that i have been judged and misunderstood
and seemingly set aside
as i sought to bring my very essence to light
and i confess even so
that persecution has never wholly trumped passion
doubt has visited yet rarely unpacked
i have stumbled and fallen
yet faith never failed to gather me up

this i willingly confess:
my unleashed spirit has more than once
led me into agreements i could not sustain
broken hearts including my own
were left in a wake of disunity
i am no stranger to a well-barbed lure
and if nets were tossed by my own hand
i confess i was merely seeking nourishment
beneath the froth that scutters the surface
of the everyday

this i tell you now:
many a night have i spent in the company
of my own wounding
and for every moment i lingered
in the light of love
i thrashed in the darkness ten moments more
many a temple i entered
in sanctuary and divine grace
draped in silk and carried
upon the backs of wing-ed beings
until my return to a landscape
unadorned by the sacred and beset by suffering

i confess that even while imprisoned
by forces large and powerful
i feathered a nest
and brooded my own becoming
held myself close
and embraced the never-ending wait
that even now crawls as a snail
to its holy destination
i confess that even though my words carry
a hint of melancholia
a peace resides at their core
that transcends the unnecessary
that washes over me
in an endless shower of emergent truth

i confess that with choice in hand
and heart broached beyond all measure
real and imagined
given a choice to dance in the light
or preen in the darkness
I have always chosen the road home
and in that comfort find the everlasting solace
i confess i oft felt was out of reach
yet even now in the waning days of discomfiture
i confess i have always known
that illusion would in time dim and die

and that time, i confess,
has arrived
bearing gifts for the unheard
and fresh regard for the not-seen

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