Receeding

Rainer Maria Rilke once wrote, "Love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you, for those who are near you are far away." The truth of this is so great - and so difficult - that it is hard to imagine anything less attainable, or less painful. Love of Christ, perhaps, but that love - I believe, and hope - is found through solitude. His words are not perfectly true of everyone, to be sure; they are the fortunate few who can love absolutely, without separation and loneliness. But, as for myself, I see no other path than complete emptiness of self, and that is a path for me alone. No one can follow me, and no one should. It is a solitary existence that is unique for everyone. We can share our existence in the world, but we can never share the true existence of our internal selves. The soul, alone, can experience its own growth, and all other people can merely hold on to the external man. This is not a pathetic existence; it is a majestic one. But, this does not stop it from being lonely. On an entirely separate note, I extend my most absolute and sincere thanks to all of you who made my birthday so wonderful. It was neither exciting, nor surprising, but simply filled with the love of real friends. I cannot begin to count my blessings.


Receeding

Each moment, more and more is asked -
the glory of the growing things;
each memory, a truth unmasked;
each tenderness, a thorn that stings,

and all throughout, as small as I,
am yet receeding, smaller still,
so that in beauty I might die,
alone to live a brighter will.