Monday, February 15, 2010

The Wild Storms

For my dear friend, Pete, thinking of all our wild storms...
MISS you Pete.

I am too alone in the world, and not alone enough
to make every minute holy.
I am too tiny in this world, and not tiny enough
just to lie before you like a thing,
shrewd and secretive.
I want my own will,
and I want simply to be with my will,
as it goes toward action,
and in the silent, sometimes hardly moving times
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone.
I want to be a mirror for your whole body,
and I never want to be blind, or to be too old
to hold up your heavy and swaying picture.
I want to unfold.
I don't want to stay folded anywhere,
because where I am folded, there I am a lie.
And I want my grasp of things
true before you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I looked at
closely for a long time,
like a saying that I finally understood,
like the pitcher I use every day,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that took me safely
through the wildest storm of all.

~Ranier Maria Rilke


Sarah Bain said...

Oh, me too, me too, me too! MISS you Pete. MISS you Jo. Will we all be together in September?

Have Myelin? said...

Miss you, Nicole. And Poppa, Nanno, Uncle Hal, Aunt Margie, Aunt Bee and Natalie. So many, so fast.

But mostly I miss my daughter Nicole.

Dr. Joanne Cacciatore said...

Myelin- I'm so very sorry.


The soul still sings in the darkness telling of the beauty she found there; and daring us not to think that because she passed through such tortures of anguish, doubt, dread, and horror, as has been said, she ran any the more danger of being lost in the night. Nay, in the darkness did she, rather, find herself.

--St. John, Dark Night of the Soul

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