What do you have to do?
Pack your bags,
Go to the station without them,
Catch the train,
And leave your self behind.
–Wei Wu Wei
Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Look, how tiny down there,
look: the last village of words and, higher,
(but how tiny) still one last
farmhouse of feeling. Can you see it?
Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Stoneground
under your hands. Even here, though,
something can bloom; on a silent cliff-edge
an unknowing plant blooms, singing, into the air.
But the one who knows? Ah, he began to know
and is quiet now, exposed on the cliffs of the heart.
While, with their full awareness,
many sure-footed mountain animals pass
or linger. And the great sheltered bird flies, slowly
circling, around the peak's pure denial. - But
without a shelter, here on the cliffs of the heart...
–Rainer Maria Rilke
And then You are like this:A small bird decoratedWith orange patches of lightWaving your wings near my window,Encouraging me with all of existences's love --To dance.And then You are like this:A cruel word that stabs meFrom the mouth of a strange costume You wear;A guise You had too long tricked me into thinkingCould be other -- than You.And then You are...The firmamentThat spins at the end of a string in Your handThat You offer to mine saying,"Did you drop this -- surelyThis is yours."And then You are, O then You are:The Beloved of every creatureRevealed with such grandeur -- burstingFrom each cell in my body,I kneel, I laugh,I weep, I sing,I sing.