Oh Rilke. Rilke, Rilke, Rilke. I love opening Rilke and awaiting whatever wisdom comes from whichever page opens first.
Today, I awaited as the soft pages wafted open. This gem greeted me:
Outside of poetry and art, security is only and ever achieved at the cost of the most inescapable limitation. This diminishment consists of choosing to be satisfied and pleasured by a world where everything is known and where preoccupation with self is both possible and useful. But how could we want that? Our security must become a relationship to the whole, omitting nothing.
– Rainer Maria Rilke, Letter to Ilse Erdman, October 9, 1916
Most inescapable limitation. As I consider this chilling thought, I consider how often I yearn for security. How valuable is security? And what, in its place, could be more engaging, more real, more alive? Especially when it comes to writing?