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confessions

And in the thirteenth moon, what shall I find?
I confess to having felt the call of the hunt, in the Moon of Blood

Lust,

to having known the thrill of the stalk, the quiver of blood
eagerness, the hunger keenness of the chase.

I confess to having found a pleasure in killing.
I confess to having tasted the saltiness of Battle Joy,
to having reveled in the pitting of arm to arm, strength to strength,

to having gloried in conquering and groveled in bitter defeat.
I confess to having gloated over giving deliberate pain.

I confess to havingpllised and panted with the wanting of the Moon

of Body Lust,

to having worshipped in his silver temples, served at his altar,
kissed the feet of his idols.

I confess to having abandoned myself to revelry and joyed in it.
I confess to having taken pleasure in the wounding of beings,

to having drawn the jagged flint-sharpness of ridicule across the
naked quivering flesh of souls,

to having used the deep-biting whiplash of scorn and the rack of
prejudice.

I confess to having schemed in the coolness of anticipation for
the bringing of spirit pain.

I confess to having drawn deep at the springs of Hate in the
Moon of Madness, .,

to having given myself up to its drunken fury, felt the surge and
strength of it in my veins, savored the smell of the fear it spread.

I confess to having wallowed in Hate for the liking of its heat on
my skin.

And

I also confess to having seethed with the restlessness in the Moon
of Wandering,

to having ached for the beckoning distances, longed for the time-
lessness of seeking, yearned for the road freedom, wind freedom, star
freedom.

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