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I love the dark hours of my
being.
being.
My mind deepens into
them.
them.
There I can find, as in old
letters,
letters,
the days of my life, already
lived,
lived,
and held like a legend, and
understood.
understood.
Then the knowing comes: I can
open
open
to another life that's wide and
timeless.
timeless.
So I am sometimes like a
tree
tree
rustling over a
gravesite
gravesite
and making real the
dream
dream
of the one its living
roots
roots
embrace:
a dream once lost
among sorrows and
songs.
songs.
~ Ranier Maria Rilke ~
(Rilke’s Book of Hours:Love Poems to
God, trans. by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)
God, trans. by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)