This is the creature there has never been, they never knew it and yet, nonetheless, they loved the way it moved, its suppleness, its neck, its very gaze, mild and serene. Not there because they loved it, it behaved as through it were. They always left some space, and in that clear unpeopled space they saved, it lightly reared its head with scarce a trace of not being there. They fed it, not with corn, but only with the possibility of being, and that was able to confer such strength, its brow put forth a horn. One horn. Whitely, it stole up to a maid, to be, within the silver mirror, and in her. - "This is the Creature" Rainer Maria Rilke

How should we be able to forget those ancient that are at the beginning of all peoples? The myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses. Perhaps all the dragons of our lives, are princesses who are only waiting to see us, once, beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible, is, in its deepest being, something helpless that wants help from us. So you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you, larger than any you have ever seen. If a restiveness, like light and cloud shadows, passes over your hands and over all you do. You must think that something is happening to you. That life has not forgotten you. That it holds you in its hand. It will not let you fall. - Excerpts from Letter 8 "Letters to a young poet" Rainer Maria Rilke


*sniffle* I love you Cathy.