A little something from Rilke in honor of the celebration of Penticost this past Sunday and for my cousin,Father Dan, and the Congregation of the Holy Spirit...
And yet, though we strain
against the deadening grip
of daily necessity,
I sense there is this mystery:
All life is being lived.
Who is living it, then?
Is it the things themselves,
or something waiting inside them,
like an unplayed melody in a flute?
Is it the winds blowing over the waters?
Is it the branches that signal to each other?
Is it flowers
interweaving their fragrances,
or streets, as they wind through time?
Is it animals, warmly moving,
or the birds, that suddenly rise up?
Who lives it, then? God, are you the one
who is living life?
- Rainer Marie Rilke (1874-1927), Bohemian-Austrian poet and novelist, from The Book of Hours, Book 2, Poem 12
© 2015 photograph, Jamie Dedes (The Poet by Day), All rights reserved
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