Visitation of the Virgin

I was reading Ranier Maria Rilke's book of poems, "The Life of the Virgin Mary" this afternoon, and found this poem about Mary's visit to Elizabeth to be rather profoundly beautiful.

Visitation of the Virgin

She still walked easily in the beginning.
Yet already was sometimes aware when climbing
of her marvelous body's life within.
And then, pausing for breath, she stood upon

the high hills of Judea. But spread wide
around her, was her fullness, not the land.
Walking, she felt: no one would overstride
the greatness which she now could understand.

And the need pressed on her not to lay her hand
on the other body, which had gone on further.
And the women leaned to one another, and
they touched each other on the dress and hair.

Each one, filled with her own sacred good
used the other as shield in her plight.
Ah, the saviour in her still was bud,
but in her cousin's womb, the Baptist could,
and did, leap in rapture of delight.

I want to unfold

I was re-reading some lines I copied down about a year ago, from a book called "Rilke's Book of Hours" - a beautiful collection of poetry by Ranier Maria Rilke, and I came across the following lines, which moved me:

I want to unfold.
Let no place in me hold itself closed,
for where I am closed, I am false.
I want to stay clear in your sight.

Try to Love the Questions...

Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.
(Ranier Maria Rilke)

I found this quote on somewhere recently, and, well, it grabbed at me. I am not good at patience with the unresolved things. And while I'm better than some at living with the questions, I certainly don't love them, and I've never managed to just live them, instead of looking for answers. I've recently been in the midst of some things that are quite frustrating, and told a dear friend in exhaustion that I was wishing for a three-step method to solving all the problems, and that I then wanted to accomplish all three of those steps in the next 20 minutes and be over and done with this all. She pointed out that I didn't really want that. Darn those friends who tell the truth! (Which is precisely what I want in a friend, but dang, sometimes I wish the truth lined up with what I want to hear/see/do a little more often.)

More lines from Rilke

This season seems unending at moments lately. Hard slogging, and crashing waves of emotion that feel as if they're drowning me.

I was flipping through "Rilke's Book of Hours" again tonight, and came across a few lines that speak to the way I'm feeling again lately.

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.
(pg. 139)

~~~

In deep nights I dig for you like treasure
For all I have seen
that clutters the surface of my world
is poor and paltry substitute
for the beauty of you
that has not happened yet....

My hands are bloody from digging.
I lift them, hold them open in the wind,
so they can branch like a tree.

Reaching, these hands would pull you out of the sky
as if you had shattered there,
dashed yourself to pieces in some wild impatience.

What is this I feel falling now,
falling on this parched earth,
softly,
like a spring rain?
(pg. 187)

~~~

Your first word of all was light,
and time began. Then for long you were silent.

Your second word was man, and fear began,
which grips us still.

Are you about to speak again?
I don't want your third word.

Sometimes I pray: Please don't talk.
Let all your doing be by gesture only.
Go on writing in faces and stone
what your silence means.

Be our refuge from the wrath
that drove us out of Paradise.

Be our shepherd, but never call us -
we can't bear to know what's ahead.
(pg. 103)

The ill-matched threads

One more poem from Rilke, the prayer of my heart tonight (for myself, and several dear friends).

She who reconciles the ill-matched threads
of her life, and weaves them gratefully
into a single cloth -
it's she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
and clears it for a different celebration

where the one guest is you.
In the softness of evening
it's you she receives.

You are the partner of her loneliness,
the unspeaking center of her monologues.
With each disclosure you encompass more
and she stretches beyond what limits her,
to hold you.

Poetry

A week or so ago I listened to a radio documentary about spirituality and depression. In the course of listening, a book of poetry by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated from the German by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy, was highly recommended. The book is titled, "Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God."

I ordered it in from the library, and, now, half-way through the book, am going to end up buying myself a copy. Rilke's poetry is strikingly beautiful, and is catching me in all sorts of tender places at the moment. Want a sample? Here are a few bits and pieces of poems, and one full poem...

But you take pleasure in the faces
of those who know they thirst
You cherish those
who grip you for survival.

~

May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.

~

I want to unfold.
Let no place in me hold itself closed,
for where I am closed, I am false.
I want to stay clear in your sight.

~

It feels as though I make my way
through massive rock
like a vein of ore
alone, encased.

I am so deep inside it
I can't see the path or any distance:
everything is close
and everything closing in on me
has turned to stone.

Since I still don't know enough about pain,
this terrible darkness makes me small.
If it's you, though -

press down hard on me, break in
that I may know the weight of your hand,
and you, the fullness of my cry.