An Ode to Self

Rejoice in all that lies ahead, unknown;
In the meadow that lies beyond the fog,
Such fertile soil, awaiting seeds yet sown.
Though worn and toiled, with joy abide thou.

Glory to the gentle discovery:
Thy self unfolds as petals in the spring,
In slow becoming, drawn through history–
A self composed of thy every fault.
Each glorious misstep, a looking glass.

Rejoice in the analog, mortal mind;
Squat upon the damp, earthen undergrowth,
With knees besmirched by soil and forest grime,
And shoulders stooped, kissed by golden sunbeams,
Pouring over pages, pocket-sized and torn—
Plants of the Coast, Pacific and obscure.
Mind follows body, weaving with the stream.
Praise this divine art: the not-yet-known.

Rejoice the children’s unanswered questions,
Innocent curiosity driving
Wild-eyed discovery agape in awe
Of the spider’s web—art of silken thread, 
The bee’s hive—her den humming alive,
Blades of grass and their music in the wind,
Vast expanse between the stars, dark as death;
The resting place of wishes upon vesper bells.

Praise the protest of rationality.
To the brave souls questioning and seeking,
I raise a toast of thanks and praise.
Poets and philosophers, what say you?
To what shall we grasp onto tenderly;
Dew upon the leaves when the night births day,
Resting comrades shaded beneath an oak,
A park with children at play,
Loving, bickering, then loving some more.

Rejoice in the beauty of selfhood! 
’Tis a gift—the imperfections of thyself.
No code or algorithm could contain
The unique mistakes of identity.
Praise to the human heart by which we live.