As I make my slow pilgrimage through the world, a certain sense of beautiful mystery seems to gather and grow. - Arthur Christopher Benson

wandering, roaming, ranging
looking for slips into looking at
then slides into awe


Nothing alien happens to us, but only what has long been our own. We have already had to rethink so many concepts about motion; now we must also begin to learn that what we call fate comes not from outside us but from within. . . . Just as for so long we were mistaken about the movement of the sun, we are still mistaken about what lies ahead of us in time.

Borgeby gärd, Sweden, August 12, 1904

Letters to a Young Poet

 

Rilke