Pilgrim, Saint, Sun, Earth

 

When I was 21 I took a pilgrimage

I walked 100 miles through northern Spain to see the remains of a Saint

But when I got there my name was not read aloud in the sanctuary

along with all the other pilgrims

It must not have been written down

The incense which were lit and swung about were not dispersed to cover my sins

And when I saw the bones of the Saint gilded in gold I was not thankful nor moved

Instead I continued the pilgrimage 100 more miles to the coast

Which is where the trail originally ended carved out by heathens and witches

To a place called “The End of the Earth”

When I got there along with the other pilgrims

I was told there was no room for me

And so as I watched the sun die into the Atlantic

With my feet standing in the medieval worlds most western point

I was neither a Christian nor a Pagan

My sins were not covered

Nor was my head

So I took out my tape recorder because I didn’t have a camera

And I recorded the Sun disappear and leave me in the dark

I didn’t know what it meant to do what I did

At the time that I did it

Even now it seems to be only darkly emerging, the meaning of it…..

Me reaching out towards the light with a small black microphone trying to preserve something of it

 

But that was many years ago

There have been many new suns since then,

My name has been spoken aloud at the end of other pilgrimages,

I have been welcomed as a guest into many houses,

My feet care not for Medieval worlds any longer,

I do not trouble myself over being a Christian or a Pagan,

My sins I understand now have always been covered

Because within this thing that I am there is the heart of a Saint

And it need not be gilded in gold

But I keep that tape nearby and on certain nights I close my eyes to see the sound of emptiness and pain and fear lest I forget where I have come from

and how truly loved I am.