The Unsayable

Dearest Kappus,

With the death of our headmistress this week, I’ve been blessed to come across your correspondence with Sir Rilke. Reading his advise, more than anything, I could feel your thoughts run through me like a leaf in the wind. All of us look for direction and right now, I am too.

I haven’t read your work though I am intrigued with Sir Rilke’s suave response; with no sign of hate or love. I believe we are called to do something in life and to be thrown into a sea of responsibilities which are called “choices.” We carry this secret burden within ourselves, telling no one that we care too much to give in to that ease of letting go.

I would love to be ruthless and strong like that rooted tree he spoke about but for fuck’s sake, please give me some water. Anyone… please. He spoke about seeking – oh how our lives are just about that! We consistently seek for the better and the greener grass that the farmer on the other side planted yet we stare at the air in our hands.

Kappus,  tell me dear stranger if this call is out there. Did you get to hear it whisper? What form does it come? Do you have to be a good person to hear it whole?

Sometimes I would imagine the call would come from a telephone booth; when all our insides and outsides and all this metaphors has reached its peak we can finally pick up the phone. Or perhaps the call would leave traces in our lives that we should gather and then build a puzzle.

Kappus, I am but a stranger to you as your are to me however as Rilke described an experience, it is something unsayable. Unsayable as it may be but I heard your plea. Everyone masks themselves tough but I tell you this, I am a seed. And I need time to grow, the kind of time that lets me take in what is in my soil in order to give back.

You’re probably a tree now but this is a little seed that wants to say hi and I too will hear my call and be part of the cluster. Rooted and steady.

Sincerely,

Pia.

 

Note: Letters to a Young Poet is a compilation of letters by Rainer Maria Rilke. It consists of 10 letters written to a young man trying to choose between a literary career and entering the Austro-Hungarian Army.

http://www.carrothers.com/rilke1.htm

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