DEAR DARKENING GROUND10/11/2010
From the original, written in 2010:
Woke up early, took the dogs, a cup of Earl Grey and my Rilke Book of Hours to the backyard and still peaceful morning. I opened the book and read, "there will be a book that includes these pages and she who take it in her hand will sit staring at it a long time, until she feels that she is being held and you are writing."
This is the end of poem whose German name escapes me. It goes like this:
"Dear darkening ground,
you've endured so patiently the walls we've built perhaps you'll give the cities one more hour
and grant the churches and cloisters two.
And those that labor - maybe you'll let their work grip them another five hours, or seven,
before you become forest again, and water, and widening wilderness
in that hour of inconceivable terror
when you take back your name from all things.
Just give me a little more time!
I want to love the things
as no one has thought to love them,
until they're real and ripe and worthy of you.
I want only seven days, seven
on which no one has ever written himself -
seven pages of solitude.
there will be a book that includes these pages,
and she who take it in her hands
will sit staring at it a long time,
until she feels that she is being held
and you are writing."
With early morning tears , I connected with my deep love of the world from a place that includes the rough bark of an ancient tree to a hawk that sits atop a light pole as its ancestors once sat atop a craggy promontory to the mysteries of the ocean deep.
As I look for my greater purpose, I think it has always been there: to love the Earth enough to save her beyond all reason; as I love those who are close to me; as I choose to be loved.