Melancholy meanderings, bittersweet memories, sweet pleas of love and romance, heartbreak, fairy tales, poetry to elaborate the ineffable.

 

If we surrendered
to earth’s intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.

Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making
and struggle, lonely and confused.

So, like children, we begin again
to learn from the the things,
because they are in God’s heart;
they have never left him.

This is what the things can teach us:
to fall,
patiently to trust our heaviness.
Even a bird has to do that
before he can fly.

Rainer Maria Rilke, from “Wenn etwas mir vom Fenster fällt (If something occurs to me from the window),” in Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, trans. by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy (Riverhead Books, 1996)

I feel nothing
but pain for the past
trying to separate
like old clothes
crumbling in a chest
what does not last
from what I can keep
trying to understand
how I fell
so short of what I intended
to do with my life.
How life twists and turns
against us. How a childhood
is not really understood
until it is lived
a second time
in memory.
How wonderful
and how terrible
it seems now
because it is gone
and because it was mine.

—Sarah Brown Weitzman, from “Looking Back

(Source: mitochondria)