Tuesday, March 29, 2011

a hundred roots silently drinking


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I have many brothers in the South
who move, handsome in their vestments,
through cloister gardens.
The Madonnas they make are so human,
and I dream often of their Titians,
where God becomes an ardent flame.
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But when I lean over the chasm of myself -
it seems
my God is dark
and like a web: a hundred roots
silently drinking.
.
This is the ferment I grow out of.
.
More I don't know, because my branches
rest in deep silence, stirred only by the wind.

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~ Rainer Maria Rilke
from The Book of Monastic Life, I,3

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