Too Alone

I'm too alone in the world, yet not alone enough to make each hour holy.
I'm too small in the world, yet not small enough to be simply in your presence, like a thing-just as it is.

I want to know my own will and move with it.
And I want, in the hushed moments when the nameless draws near, to be among the wise ones-or alone.

I want to mirror your immensity.
I want never to be too weak or too old to bear the heavy, lurching image of you.

I want to unfold,
Let no place in me hold itself closed,
for where I am closed, I am false.
I want to stay clear in your sight.

--Rainer Maria Rilke

bones.

What is love?

I can’t put it to words.

But my pen on the paper knows.

It can’t help but write of love.

Can you feel love?

These bones of mine are stiff.

But I know these bones were made to love.

When love comes, my bones will know.

They’ll crackle and tighten.

But wait. Deep sigh. Exhale.

Love brings rest.

Can you learn love?

I’ve read all about it.

My mind is full of Jane Austen, Shakespeare and Rumi.

When love comes, my mind will race.

It’ll imagine and muse and wonder.

But wait. Deep sigh. Exhale.

Love brings simplicity.

What is love?
Rest. Simplicity.

Sounds like His love.