All who seek you
test you.
And those who find you
bind you to image and gesture.
I would rather sense you
as the earth senses you.
In my ripening
ripens
what you are.
I need from you no tricks
to prove you exist.
Time, I know,
is other than you.
No miracles, please.
Just let your laws
become clearer
from generation to generation.
note: from Rilke’s Book of Hours translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy
Merry Christmas!!
LikeLike
Thank you.
LikeLike