“Therefore, dear Sir, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you.
For those who are near you are far away… and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast…. be happy about your growth, in which of course you can’t take anyone with you, and be gentle with those who stay behind; be confident and calm in front of them and don’t torment them with your doubts and don’t frighten them with your faith or joy, which they wouldn’t be able to comprehend. Seek out some simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them, which doesn’t necessarily have to alter when you yourself change again and again; when you see them, love life in a form that is not your own and be indulgent toward those who are growing old, who are afraid of the aloneness that you trust…. and don’t expect any understanding; but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.”
I am too alone
I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough
to make every moment 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 those quiet,
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 to be 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 carried me
through the wildest storm of all.
Rainer Maria Rilke,
Rilke’s Book of Hours:
Love Poems to God