


I've found myself having a conversation again and again where I stumble trying to explain the meaning behind the words I had branded to my body- just not being able to get close to what I think Rilke meant. But here is the thing behind it- I try tremendously hard to get to meaning, and often believe I should have convictions that will guide me to transcendence and life lived properly. But I know such pursuit to be sort of foolhardy, and that mistakes will be made, and that there is ephemeral and changing truth, and that I want to be open to unknown wisdom in others that will help the scales (that always rebuild) fall from my eyes. It's kind of about faith that I have so much to learn.
It's been so lovely and eye-opening to lately let some sadness and bitterness that had rooted inside me melt, and experience sweetness and light and know I'm not enough and love all the golden, generous people in my little world.
I hesitate to make such declarations, living as I do in the irony-laden world that is easy to inhabit, but I think I know well enough by now that my nature is ridiculously sentimental, given to hyperbole, and that I find life so much more rich and beautiful when I stop trying to be clever, and lose myself in wandering.