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.
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
I found this beautiful poem today, these beautiful words.
I thought of how I instantly knew I had to share it with all of you.
We are changing all the time, becoming closer and closer to who we are.
Thank you, all of you, for still visiting here, and being the magic that I can dial up at any time.
You keep me afloat.
BONUS POSTING TIP: Do not enter "Autumn" as a google search image. You'll hear the screams 6 states across as your screen fills up with an eye-masked auburn haired wood nymph and her strategically placed fall leaves.
Word to the wise.