The Reader {#280-282}

Last week, in the Year with Rilke, I came across this poem, and it resonated deeply within me...

The Reader
by Rainer Maria Rilke

Who has not known a child like this,
who sinks into a deeper level of his being,
undisturbed by the swift turning
of each brimming page?
Even his own mother might wonder
if it is really he who sits there
saturated with his shadow.
And we, can we know
how much of him
disappears, as he reluctantly looks up
with eyes that yield
to the ready-made world without complaint?

—New Poems

How often, as a child did I find myself lost in book, preferring the world encountered on the page to that which we called real life? How many times did I choose to ignore my brothers to read and play with my favorite characters in a book? And when there was no book to read, how often did I pick up pen and paper, writing my own stories, creating my own worlds to dance and play in?

I couldn't put a number on it if I tried.

If I could choose to leave one part of myself to my niece and nephews, it would be this love of the written word, this love of books. Nothing makes my heart happier than when one of my little people picks up a book, either on their own, or to ask someone to read to them.

* * * * *

Today I am thankful for...

280:: for parents who, while they didn't fully understand my desire to constantly have my nose in a book, let me spend countless hours doing this thing that I loved.

281:: for authors who sacrificed their time, energy and stories to bring my imagination to life and create for me the infinite and endless playground of imagination.

282:: for the Bible, the ultimate book, and love letter from God. If there was only ever to be one book, this would be the one.

Favorite words...

It's been a while since I've done a Favorites Fridays post, but this week, when I read this poem, I knew that it was time for another one.

I've made no secret that Rainer Maria Rilke is my favorite poet. The more of his writing-both poetry and letters- I read, the more I love them. The first time I walked into the Rodin garden in Paris, France and saw his name on the plaque on the museum wall, it was like running into a friend in a place where never would have expected to find one.

Like G.K. Chesterton, I feel like Rainer and I would have been friends, had history and geography been kinder.

This poem is from 'A Year with Rilke: Daily Readings from the Best of Rainer Maria Rilke', one that I am reading this year. I could gush and tell you how wonderful it is...but I think that is what this whole post is anyway!

Here is the poem...

A hunger drives us.
We want to contain it all in our naked hands,
our brimming senses, our speechless hearts.
We want to become it, or offer it—but to whom?
We could hold it forever—but, after all,
what can we keep? Not the beholding,
so slow to learn. Not anything that has happened here.
Nothing. There are the hurts. And, always, the hardships.
And there's the long knowing of love—all of it
unsayable. Later, amidst the stars, we will see:
these are better unsaid.

—Rainer Maria Rilke, from the Ninth Duino Elegy

Guardians of the Soul {#158}

Confession: I set my alarm clock, got up early, and watched the royal wedding on Friday.

The way I saw it, having 'attended' Prince William's mother's wedding in the same manor 30 years ago, I felt it only right that this sparse, although long-standing tradition be continued.

The one thing that most struck me, in the deluge of information that came at the world through the lens of the media, was a photo released on Wednesday, of Kate and her sister/main of honor Pippa leaving their home, and driving to London for the big day. Photos captured them smiling, looking comfortable in each other's company, as they headed towards all that lay ahead.

When I saw those photos, I started to feel sad for the late Princess Diana. Thirty years ago, the hours preceding her wedding weren't filled with laughter with a friend. She had no equal in age as her maid of honor, just a bunch of children as bridesmaids. A friend, who is an avid royal watcher, told me that in the 24 hours before the 1981 wedding, Diana was alone at Clarence House, her last meal as a single woman was served to her on a tray by a maid. She didn't even receive a phone call from her soon-to-be groom.

You can think all you want—or don't want—about Britain's royal family, but no matter how you feel about them, I cannot imagine anyone thinking that this was a good way to begin what was supposed to be a happy, fairytale-ish, new life.

All these thoughts came the same day as Life Journal reflections about David and Jonathan's friendship. It all started with these words of David in a Psalm...

Look to the right and see:
there is no one who takes notice of me;
no refuge remains to me;
no one cares for my soul.

—Psalm 142:4

You can feel the pain in David's words. While I am not sure of the timing, either David would be missing his friend Jonathan because of Saul's madness, or Jonathan's own death. Either way, how David's heart must have ached for the friend of whom he said in 2 Samuel 1:28b (ESV), "your love to me was extraordinary". It was clear that even among all the mighty men that David was surrounded by, he did not find Jonathan's equal.

It is easy to find others with things in common. It is also easy to believe that an actual friendship can be had with someone, even if you only ever see their face on a monitor. But a friend who 'cares for your soul'? This is a much more rare and beautiful gift.

The poet Rilke wrote,

I hold this to be the highest task for a bond between two people: that each protects the solitude of the other. —Rainer Maria

Basically, to care for each other's soul.

I am so blessed to have friends who care for my soul. From the friendship that celebrates its 20th anniversary this year, to those the have come into my life more recently, but are no less vital. Beautiful women of God who not only care for my soul, but allow me the privilege of caring for theirs as well.

Without a doubt, I know that the night before I marry my own prince—should that day ever arrive—I will not be alone, but will be surrounded by my beautiful friends and family, caring for my soul as always.

And if one of them wants to serve me dinner on a tray, I don't think I will object too strongly!

* * * * *

Although there is only one thing on today's list, it is a big one, and should encompass many more than one...

I am grateful for...

158:: the friends, the guardians of my soul, who so enrich my life, laugh with me, hold me together when life falls apart, and make my world a much better place.

spring things...

Threshold of Spring
—Rainer Maria Rilke, Uncollected Poems

Harshness gone. All at once caring spreads over
the naked gray of the meadows.
Tiny rivulets sing in different voices.
A softness, as if from everywhere,
is touching the earth.
Paths appear across the land and beckon.
Surprised once again you sense
its coming in the empty tree.

When it comes to poetry about the seasons, Spring is definitely the prom queen of the four. Poets seem to see Spring as the most mystical and magical of all the seasons, and I suppose it is for good reason. No other season has that beautiful, resurrection quality, where after the long, cold, dark months, Spring brings us back flowers and birdsong, convincing us that life will go on, that winter won't prevail forever... that even though it has felt like it, there is life after snow.

One of my very favorite spring things is going to St. Jacobs, both the farmer's market and the town with my small group... which is what we are doing tomorrow!



Whatever you find yourself doing, I hope you have a happy, happy weekend!

Spring has returned...

My Gram always said that the last snowfall of the year had the biggest snowflakes. After walking downtown on Saturday in the midst of some of the prettiest and hugest snowflakes ever, I am choosing to believe her words, and have decided that spring is here.

I am ready for a change...

gratitude...

Happy Monday!

It was a good, but relatively quiet weekend in my world. There was a good deal of reading, some not enough writing, and my first two whole nights of sleep in almost a week. That alone is enough to have made this a good weekend!

As we live our lives through these days that at times seem so very long, yet are passing by so briskly, I have yet again found myself in one of Rilke's poems. How grateful I am for the wisdom and beauty with which he wrote...

Knots of Our Own Making
{Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Hours II, 16}

How surely gravity's law,
strong as an ocean current,
takes hold of even the smallest thing
and pulls it toward the heart of the world.
Each thing—
each stone, blossom, child—
is held in place.
Only we, in our arrogance,
push out beyond what we each belong to
for some empty freedom.
If we surrendered
to earth's intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.
Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making
and struggle, lonely and confused.
So, like children, we begin again
to learn from the things,
because they are in God's heart;
they have never left him.

#31-59 of my One Thousand Gifts...

31. postponed plans that give the gift of time.

32. an unexpected conversation with a stranger at the laundromat.

33. getting to chat with one of my brothers, even if only for a few minutes.

34. blog comments that encourage and make me smile.

35. the beginning of Lent, and the yearly physical reminder that Easter is coming.

36. having friends that i can email to ask to pray for Jayden's tests.

37. the friend who emailed me back to say i could count on her to pray & that she loved me.

38. another friend's sweet response that brought tears to my eyes.

39. and another beautiful friend.

40. and another.

41. and another.

42. all the amazing, encouraging, beautiful friends that God has blessed me with.

43. tests done in good time, a hungry little boy & a trip to McDonald's.

44. the unusual ability to keep my mouth firmly closed when nothing but sarcasm was going to come out.

45. the blissful peace of a Friday night at home.

46. turning the first few pages of a Cara Black Parisian mystery novel.

47. finishing that same book the next day.

48. getting a dreaded chore done before 10:00 am

49. homemade potato cheddar soup.

50. finally getting an entire night's sleep.

51. re-reading a book and being more moved and challenged the second time.

52. trusting that no matter what news this week brings, God is still God, still in control, still love.

53. overripe bananas that sacrificed themselves to become banana praline pecan biscotti and blueberry banana bread.
54. reconnecting with a friend through laughter and tears.

55. being able to share some of my stupidest moments and knowing my friend will still love me.

56. birds singing in the tree outside.

57. my parents.

58. Rilke's poetry.

59. the grace to begin again.

off

i am feeling off today.

it started sometime yesterday, not sure if i could actually pinpoint the time. but by late yesterday afternoon, it was official that i was not feeling like myself. i was achy and stuffed up, so i hoped that perhaps the 'offness' was a result of the onset of a cold, but this morning i awoke sans illness, but still not quite myself.

even as i wrote this morning, it felt strained and unfamiliar.

after getting ready, i walked out of the house and into dog pooh and anger. in retrospect, the anger was probably disproportionate to the amount of pooh stepped in. perhaps it was the cumulative amount of dog pooh i have stepped in over the last few months, or just another symptom of how i am feeling.

then as i walked to work, i almost got run into by a car. while the driver wasn't watching where she was going, it was my fault because i wasn't where i should have been... but that didn't stop me from angrily looking at the driver and asking, 'what on earth is wrong with you?!' through the windshield.

never would i have thought that i would end up being that person.

i am off today.

i'm not even sure what i most need. i only know that i don't feel like myself, now compounded by the guilt of taking my unfounded anger out on an unsuspecting stranger. i pray that she forgets and my outburst does not affect her day.

as in all my more ugly self-aware moments, Rilke words seem to find their way into my mind. these, the last part of the poem, 'I Am Praying Again, Awesome One' seem particularly fitting...

it is here in all the pieces of my shame
that i now find myself again.
i yearn to belong to something, to be contained
in an all-embracing mind that sees me
as a single thing.
i yearn to be held
in the great hands of your heart—
oh let them take me now.

into them i place these fragments, my life,
and you, God— spend them however you want.

—Rilke

falling

there are days when it feels like everything is out of control.

falling.

not doing what i want, or need, or think it should be doing. but rather, spinning wildly, jerking erratically and heading towards the floor, only the sound of the crash remaining.

i was facing the window while in a meeting yesterday, and had to force myself to not simply sit and watch the constantly falling leaves. there wasn't a second where at least one leaf was making its mesmerizing, spinning, beautiful journey to the ground.

the trees appear to be wiser than i am.

to graciously give up what you cannot hold is a lesson i am still learning. to remember that there is a season for everything. to trust that the Maker of the season knows more and better than i, is a place i need to rest more. a place i need to live.

given all this, it is only fitting that i let Rilke weigh in on the situation. as always, i am silenced by his words...

Autumn
by Rainer Maria Rilke

The leaves are falling, falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning "no."

And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.

We're all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It's in them all.

And yet there is Someone, whose hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.

static

why is it that when you have to get up early in the morning, sleep becomes as elusive and mythical as a unicorn?

there are times when i read something, particularly something exceptionally brilliant, that i cannot help but wishing that i had written it. such is the case with most of Rilke's works. poetry, prose, it matters not, the sheer level of his brilliance always leaves me speechless. especially in the presence of words such as these...

The Book of a Monastic Life, I, 7
—Ranier Maria Rilke, from The Book of Hours: Love Poems to God

If only for once it were still.
If the not quite right and the why this
could be muted, and the neighbor's laughter,
and the static my senses make—
if all of it didn't keep me from coming awake—

Then in one vast thousandfold thought
I could think you up to where thinking ends.

I could posess you,
even for the brevity of a smile,
to offer you
to all the lives,
in gladness.

so much brilliance. so much insight. so much perfection.

this love poem to God— written so many years ago, in a language i do not understand, by a man i would have loved to have met— is exactly where this dark night finds me.

too alone

tonight is one of those nights. actually, it's been this whole day.

i know that Jesus said not to worry.

        but i'm worrying.

fear is on the 'avoid' list as well.

        i am more fearful than i want to let on.

there is a world of difference between alone and lonely.

        in this moment, how i wish i were simply alone.

i know it won't last. and i am aware that Sundays sometimes bring this out in me, especially when i know that my family is 2689 kilometers away laughing and playing games in my parent's new kitchen, as i sit alone here in mine.

when i am feeling this way, i crave the words of my favorite poet, Ranier Maria Rilke. this is from his Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, and there are few inanimate objects on earth than i love more than this book. {although, i do wish i still had my copy...}

I am too alone in the world
by Ranier Maria Rilke

I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough
to make every hour holy.
I am too small in the world, and yet not tiny enough
just to stand before you like a thing,
dark and shrewd.
I want my will, and I want to be with my will
as it moves towards deed;
and in those quiet, somehow hesitating times,
when something is approaching,
I want to be with those who are wise
or else alone.
I want always to be a mirror that reflects your whole being,
and never to be too blind or too old
to hold your heavy, swaying image.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere do I want to remain folded,
because where I am bent and folded, there I am untrue.
And I want my meaning
true for you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I studied
closely for a long, long time,
like a word I finally understood,
like the pitcher of water I use every day,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that carried me
through the deadliest storm of all.

Rilke writes things so much more breathtakingly beautiful than i can sometimes endure.

...where I am bent and folded, i am untrue.

i also desire to be unfolded, and true. the process is seldom a painless one, and in these times when i must face that which i would rather not, i must remember that the gain is worth whatever the unfolding brings.


        i want to unfold.

poem

it's been a while since i shared any of my favorite poems with you, or gushed on about my favorite poet, Rilke. to be honest, i may have shared this one before, but given that its author is brilliant, and the poem is perfect, i think it's worth the risk.

Ignorant before the heavens of my life | R.M. Rilke

Ignorant before the heavens of my life,
I stand and gaze in wonder. Oh the vastness
of the stars. Their rising and descent. How still.
As if I didn't exist. Do I have any
share in this? Have I somehow dispensed with
their pure effect? Does my blood's ebb and flow
change with their changes? Let me put aside
every desire, every relationship
except this one, so that my heart grows used to
its farthest spaces. Better that it live
fully aware, in the terror of its stars, than
as if protected, soothed by what is near.

evening

it's been a long time since i've shared some rilke beauty. given that the sky is darkening perfectly right now, i think tonight might be the night...

evening

the sky puts on the darkening blue coat
held for it by a row of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight,
one journeying to heaven, one that falls;

and leave you, not at home in either one,
not quite so still and dark as the darkened houses,
not calling to eternity with the passion of what becomes
a star each night, and rises;

and leave you (inexpressibly to unravel)
your life, with its immensity and fear,
so that, now bounded, now immeasurable,
it is alternately stone in you and star.

~by Ranier Maria Rilke
translated by Stephen Mitchell

unruly

apparently, when the teachers in our small group are away, we are a terribly unruly group... but it makes for a very entertaining evening!

tonight we talked for a bit about if it is even possibly to be madly in love with God. we've all heard Jesus' words as he quoted the book of deuteronomy, saying, 'love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.' but the actual doing of this is where most of us get lost. no one wants to be labeled a crazy christian, one with no seeming grasp on reality, no clue how to relate with people who don't speak the same 'language', the ones we would cross the street to avoid.

but our fear of crazy doesn't absolve us from the call to love our God with everything in our lives. maybe we need to be a little less conscious of the crazy, and a little more purposeful with the love.

i love you, gentlest of ways,
who ripened us as we wrestled with you.

you, the great homesickness we could never shake off,
you, the forest that always surrounded us,

you, the song we sang in every silence,
you, the dark net threading through us,

on the day you made us you created yourself,
and we grew sturdy in your sunlight...

let your hand rest on the rim of heaven now
and mutely bear the darkness we bring over you.

~ranier maria rilke

where it all began...

there are some beginnings that are firmly planted in my mind. the first time i met my niece and nephews. my first coffee {which happened to be an espresso}. the first time i went to a UofM football game. the first time i met my friend angie. i could go on...

but, for the life of me, i cannot remember the first time i was introduced to ranier maria rilke, who, for anyone new here, is my favorite poet. i don't remember when it was that i was introduced to the man watching, my very favorite poem in all of the world. i am happy, however, that i loved and appreciated rilke long before i knew that he was auguste rodin's personal secretary, and lived in paris...otherwise i may think that my admiration was partly circumstantial.

i've been thinking about rilke much of the day, partly because i've begun reading his diaries of a young poet, and partly because when i am in the midst of internal struggle, his words most seem to resonate what echoes inside. and since i have noticed that i don't believe i've ever posted my favorite poem, and because with unfailing certainty my heart goes back here, tonight i will leave you with this perfect gem.

the man watching
by rainer maria rilke

I can tell by the way the trees beat, after
so many dull days, on my worried windowpanes
that a storm is coming,
and I hear the far-off fields say things
I can't bear without a friend,
I can't love without a sister

The storm, the shifter of shapes, drives on
across the woods and across time,
and the world looks as if it had no age:
the landscape like a line in the psalm book,
is seriousness and weight and eternity.

What we choose to fight is so tiny!
What fights us is so great!
If only we would let ourselves be dominated
as things do by some immense storm,
we would become strong too, and not need names.

When we win it's with small things,
and the triumph itself makes us small.
What is extraordinary and eternal
does not want to be bent by us.
I mean the Angel who appeared
to the wrestlers of the Old Testament:
when the wrestler's sinews
grew long like metal strings,
he felt them under his fingers
like chords of deep music.

Whoever was beaten by this Angel
(who often simply declined the fight)
went away proud and strengthened
and great from that harsh hand,
that kneaded him as if to change his shape.
Winning does not tempt that man.
This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively,
by constantly greater beings.

still waiting...

perhaps it is in preparation for the coming season of advent {or just the nature of life itself}, but i have been drawn to and seemingly drawn by all things that have to do with waiting. so, it could only be fitting that tonight, as i prepared to shut down the computer and head to bed, did i stumble across a Rilke poem on this very subject, called the wait. enjoy.

it is life in slow motion,
it's the heart in reverse,
it's a hope-and-a-half:
too much and too little at once.

it's a train that suddenly
stops with no station around,
and we can hear the cricket,
and, leaning out the carriage

door, we vainly contemplate
a wind we feel that stirs
the blooming meadows, the meadows
made imaginary by this stop.

translated by A. Poulin

gratefulness...

as usual, tonight my living room was filled with the laughter that has always accompanied my small group. we are a group that knows little of solemnity, and as someone who has laughter as one of her core values, this is a very good thing.

tonight, we welcomed two new members...and even though it was their very first time, they both fit in so beautifully to our madness, that yes, i already consider them part of us.

each young woman in the group has added a dimension to my life that did not exist before i met them. each of them has helped to make me a better person, a better Christ follower, and for that, i will always be immensely grateful for the fact that they let me share in their lives, and their own life journeys.

as always, Rilke's words say better how i feel about each member of my small group:

“i'm so glad you're here. . .it helps me realize how beautiful my world is.”