Another Rilke gem

Why am i reaching again for the brushes?

When i paint your portrait, God,

nothing happens.

But i can choose to feel you.

At my senses' horizon

you appear hesitantly,

like scattered islands.

Yet standing here, peering out,

i'm all the time seen by you.

The choruses of angels use up all of heaven

There's no more room for you

in all that glory. You're living

in your very last house.

All creation holds its breath, listening within me,

because to hear you, i keep silent.

(Rilke seems to be aware of the utter simplicity of heart that makes space for God........sometimes we are too wordy in our religion, too noisy, too grasping, too filled with strong beliefs - yet for who's 'glory' - that the flicker of faith dies down.....)