Another beautiful (and dark) piece by Rilke. Sometimes, meditation can feel like this. A great grief cry. Not for present-day losses, but for things long ago lost which have never been mourned. It is this retroactive grieving—a sort of settling of emotional accounts—that brings us into congruency, allowing us to respond to present conditions without the added weight of buried associations.
It’s possible I am pushing through solid rock
in flintlike layers, as the ore lies, alone;
I am such a long way in I see no way through,
and no space: everything is close to my face,
and everything close to my face is stone.
I don’t have much knowledge yet in grief
so this massive darkness makes me small.
You be the master: make yourself fierce, break in:
then your great transforming will happen to me,
and my great grief cry will happen to you.