Found in the Proceedings
of the 61st Annual Conference of ATLA, of all places. This little poem is one of a combination of things that got me thinking again about vocation and how we're all called. Enjoy!
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 a 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.*
*From Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God
, translation by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy (New York, Riverhead Books, 1996) p. 88
Is that not one of the most beautiful poems you've EVAR read? Made me friggin' cry with the joy and beauty of it. What gusto! On a level of Wendell Berry-ness in its beauty and striking honesty. Now, to find that book to read the rest of 'em...