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“It seems to me that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension, which we feel as paralysis because we no longer hear our astonished emotions living.  Because we are alone with the unfamiliar presence that has entered us; because everything we trust and are used to is for a moment taken away from us; because we stand in the midst of a transition where we cannot remain standing. 

That is why the sadness passes: the new presence inside us, the presence that has been added, has entered our heart, has gone into its innermost chamber and is no longer even there, – is already in our bloodstream.  And we don’t know what it was.  We could easily be made to believe that nothing happened, and yet we have changed, as a house that a guest has entered changes.  We can’t say who has come, perhaps we will never know, but many signs indicate that the future enters us in this way in order to be transformed in us, long before it happens.

And that is why it is so important to be solitary and attentive when one is sad: because the seemingly uneventful and motionless moment when our future steps into us is so much closer to life than that other loud and accidental point of time when it happens to us as if from outside.  The quieter we are, the more patient and open we are in our sadnesses, the more deeply and serenely the new presence can enter us, and the more we can make it our own, the more it becomes our fate.”

~Rainer Maria Rilke

Rarely am I ever speechless, but this is as close it gets.  I wept when I read this.  It is expressed so perfectly and eloquently, as if no one has ever had anything meaningful to say on the topic of our sadnesses until now.

If you liked this piece, go give some love to the Facebook page of “Rainer Maria Rilke”, because this is where I transcribed it from.  I have many books by Rilke, but I have never come across this piece before … beyond, beyond exquisite!

I’ve experienced a great sadness recently and I’ve really reached out to no one.  At times I wanted to pick up that phone, but I didn’t, I just knew it wasn’t what I needed.  My husband is out of town, too, so not even him to turn to.  And now I know, this has all been orchestrated for me to spend moments like I just did in the solitude of my back porch, reading Rilke, framed by the overhanging of our steadfast red mountain cedar.  Sure I could have commiserated with others, but I knew I had been touched in ways I could not yet understand, nor make sense of, nor find a solution for. 

I also knew there was a light, there was the “sunny hill” that my eyes had already touched, as Rilke writes in The Walk.   And I would be guided, even as I set out seemingly alone, I called upon all my guides and angels to be with me.  I was, as always, answered, in so many ways and continue to be.

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