God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.
These are the words we dimly hear:
You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.
Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand.
-Rilke's Book of Hours, I, 59
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Beautiful...thank you.
ReplyDeletethis is wonderful. I love Rilke, but was not familiar with this poem.
ReplyDeleteStopping by to say hi! Thanks for thinking of me during the World Series. I seem to have made an impact on the blogging world- everyone thinks about me when they hear the Rangers! :)
ReplyDeleteHope you are doing well!
:)
Rach
thankful that no feeling is final. xo
ReplyDeleteNo feeling is final. Love that.
ReplyDelete