Small Stone for Jan. 20, 2014

badge-14-300x300Today’s Rilke poem from A Year with Rilke is here at the YearwithRilke blog, and titled  “God Speaks”.    taken from The Book of Hours I, 19.

This is a difficult one for me. My belief is more spiritual than related to organized religion these days. My sense is that there is a universal energy that exists, and that it leaves the body at the moment of death to return to the universe to recharge and be reborn in another way. But of course, this is my own belief, and not one that I suggest is the correct one.

AYEARWRILKERilke’s poem is about God speaking to us, saying he surrounds us, says “…I am the dream you are dreaming”.. .  

Jan. 20, 2014

…And with the silence of the stars I enfold
your cities made by time.–Rilke

Clear sky at evening spills
from the burn of a billion stars.
What energy lights the way?

English: Pleiades Star Cluster

English: Pleiades Star Cluster (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What spark first strikes neurons
in the human brain? What shape
held its first life in the universe?

To what does it return when
the last neuron dies? Is this the true
human soul, the white and tunneled light?

–CAS

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Small Stone for Jan. 19, 2014

AYEARWRILKE

badge-14-300x300Today’s poem from A Year with Rilke is Your Singing Continues, which can be read here, a blog post from 3 Januaries ago, illustrated with a wonderful Rodin sculpture: http://yearwithrilke.blogspot.ca/2011/01/your-singing-continues.html  

Jan. 19, 2014

“…all that is finished
falls home to the ancient source.

Above the change and loss,
farther and freer,
your singing continues..”—Rilke

Nothing that we are
lasts forever unchanged.

In winter, the earth
gathers its strength for
new growth to come in spring.

Spring rain

Spring rain (Photo credit: Here’s Kate)

Even as our bodies age,
we may find growth of spirit.
We too long for April rainsong and the sun.

–CAS

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Small Stone for Jan. 18, 2014

badge-14-300x300A short passage for Jan. 18 dated July 16, 1903 from Letters to a Young Poet:

“And Everything Matters”  “The tasks that have been entrusted to us are often difficult. Almost everything that matters is difficult, and everything matters.” —Rainer Maria Rilke from A Year with Rilke

AYEARWRILKE

Jan. 18, 2014

While I think about this
Zemanta tells me Nothing Really Matters
but Foodmatters, and by the way,

the truth matters, Family matters
and even so, nothing matters and what if it did?
Followed almost at once by all that matters.

Google tells me Poetry matters and why
it matters now, and Science also matters. Did you know
there are poems about matter in science?

I have made Worry matter, although it gives back
only stress, so to live without worry does matter.
Is this why it is so difficult to find inner calm?

–CAS

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Small Stone for Jan. 17, 2014

badge-14-300x300For January 17, I encounter Rilke‘s poem, The Lute. There is a sensuousness to this poem that strikes me first, and I am tempted to go with a different inspiration for today’s small stone. But as I think about the words in the poem, I begin to think about how the external world touches us, whether through another person, through music, or simply the kind of weather each day brings. Two of my friends suffer from SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder, winter depression.

English: A 30 kHz bright light therapy lamp (I...

English: A 30 kHz bright light therapy lamp (Innosol Rondo) used to treat seasonal affective disorder. Provides 10,000 lux at a distance of 25 cm. credit: Wikipedia)

The last two or three winters I have been depressed, as that’s when all the body’s little complaints join together. Achy joints, sore back, and thoughts about getting older. Perhaps it is SAD for me too? A conversation with a friend suggests I should look for a lamp designed to help with this. So, tomorrow, perhaps, when there is no snow falling, I will go shopping for one.

Jan. 17, 2014

Is all thought formed
from an internal spark, or
does the outside world
also have its say?

Christmas 2009029I wonder whether grey sky
seeps into my thoughts,
creeps like snow through crevices
under my window, colouring my day.

Does Rilke’s writing on death
add its tinge of grief to my own,
as I mourn the passing days
and long for summer?    

CAS

AYEARWRILKE

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