Friends,

We have made it through the storms and power outages—hopefully just writing that doesn’t curse us to more storms and outages—and we are in the last stretch of summer. I think about the coming of the year, the regularity, and order.

A colleague has turned me on to Rilke, and I’d like to share his poem.

Onto a Vast Plain

     Written by Rainer Maria Rilke

     Translated and read by Joanna Macy

You are not surprised at the force of the storm—
you have seen it growing.
The trees flee. Their flight
sets the boulevards streaming. And you know:
he whom they flee is the one
you move toward. All your senses
sing him, as you stand at the window.

The weeks stood still in summer.
The trees’ blood rose. Now you feel
it wants to sink back
into the source of everything. You thought
you could trust that power
when you plucked the fruit:
now it becomes a riddle again
and you again a stranger.

Summer was like your house: you know
where each thing stood.
Now you must go out into your heart
as onto a vast plain. Now
the immense loneliness begins.

The days go numb, the wind
sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves.

Through the empty branches the sky remains.
It is what you have.
Be earth now, and evensong.
Be the ground lying under that sky.
Be modest now, like a thing
ripened until it is real,
so that he who began it all
can feel you when he reaches for you.

The modest now, the authentic and real—I hope that we can cleave onto this. Our connections to one another and to our planet can ground us.  Amid the hype and pomp of national elections, within the calls for action and justice, and the storms and outages, I hope for a calm authenticity like the ground lying under the sky.

Peace upon us all,

Rev Will