How small that is, with which we wrestle, what wrestles with us, how immense; were we to let ourselves, the way things do, be conquered thus by the great storm,—we would become far-reaching and nameless.What we triumph over is the Small, and the success itself makes us petty. The Eternal and Unexampled will not be bent by us.
Rainer Maria Rilke
There’a a a great undoing at my root. It wrestles me as I wrestle it. Or is it the other way around?
Compassion says, go slow, slower than a snail even. Regress if you must. You don’t really know where you are anyway.
You can’t understand what you can’t understand. You can’t undo what you can’t undo. So what is there to do? What is there to understand?
All you can do is be quiet. And even that you can’t do. You can’t force. You can’t will. You can’t pretend. You can’t hold onto.
So…