Metanoia (Poem)

and if I knew what I wanted it would be simple:
if I could tap into vorfreude to guide me
if I knew I anticipated anything that much, that joyfully, I could
or I could try, at least-

if I knew, I could.
climb out from under the sense-deadening blanket,
shake off the hiraeth that renders me heart-dumb, and
put fingertips on the shape of the world, and make it new.

they say we all have orenda, painted dye-deep in our genes
the power to change the world and to change ourselves.
unlocking it, however, may be problematic
for the lost lambs wandering in the misty hills
crying confusion, thin and high, to the cold damp air

sorrowing for the world, and paralysed with acatalepsy
koyaanisqatsi the defining note:
we cannot know anything, and if we cannot know it, how can we change it?
or perhaps more to the point - how do we dare to?
not knowing our own sun, how can we exercise the intolerable hubris
to turn our eyes to stars?

if I knew, I could try.
if I knew what I was meant to be / do / know / absorb
if I had the script, my lines marked
nefelibata, or sacrifice
if I knew what I was meant to know
if there was meaning to be dragged from it, in some clear and unambiguous way

if I knew - but I do not know, and never will
all I have is intuitions and brief moments
numinous ecstasies limited to half-remembered dreams
sillage trailed through my sleeping brain,
a faint perfume of the soul, fading
always fading away.

- Kathy, 28/3/15

*This poem was, among other things, an attempt to knit together a few of the words I am newly besotted with, which I read on this page. This poem embeds nine of them: metanoia, vorfreude, hiraeth, orenda, acatalepsy, koyaanisqatsi, nefelibata, numinous, and sillage.