A Thousand Natural Shocks.

Perhaps I am hidden at the heart of the mountain
solitary as a vein of pure metal

I feel lost in a bottomless abyss,
in a deep and unending night.

I have not learned how to suffer,
and this great night frightens me.

Is it anguish that grips me,
the anguish of the crowded cities
where you have buried me up to the neck?

My mouth, like a gaping wound, yearns to close,
my hands hang heavy at my sides
like dogs that are deaf to any call.

Lord…we are poorer than the poor beasts
who, despite their blindness, put an end to their agony.

Please, Lord, let a man be great and holy.

Grant him a deep infinite night
where he may go farther than any man has ever been…

Grant him a night where all is fulfilled.

Let the time of his childhood be reborn in his heart.

Reveal to him once again the wonderful world
of his early years, so full of foreboding

Lord…keep us awake at least once.

—Le livre de la pouvrete et da la mort, Rainer Maria Rilke.