The way Rilke writes about love in Letters to a Young Poet is so beautiful. He says that we should focus on building a world within ourselves first. Love is rooted in solitude. It is difficult, with no words to describe, much like death. It brought a smile to my face when he says that love should be between two human beings, not man and woman, especially given the time and context in which he wrote these letters. Franz Kappus’ sonnet touched me — love as an unspeakable prayer, a desire to connect with the divine. I find that in religious and spiritual practice, I no longer yearn for “love” as much as I used to. I think seeking love is really seeking self when all is muddied and confused. But once you find yourself, there is an infinite capacity for love, and an infinite patience too. If it comes, then it comes, but if it does not, I am content, too. It’s fate. Connections cannot be forced or manifested. They’re all threads in a larger tapestry that we could not even hope to understand.
Love is hard. One must look inwards rather than outwards. Art arises from necessity, from within, from quietness, solitude, and stillness. There is beauty everywhere, and life should be traversed with love.
Transclude of Letters-to-a-Young-Poet#1aebf0
The overlying maternal drive of life reminds me of the revelations I had after reading The Setting Sun by Dazai — mother and child, the purest form of love, reflecting the beauty of life.