Before the Morning Comes

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning (Psalm 30:5).

That scripture, weirdly, is so true. What is it about waking up in the morning that makes the tear-inducing concerns of the night before seem so far away?

I had a little melancholy moment last night, but today is a brand new day. I'm thankful that God keeps His promises.

There is a poem (well, an excerpt of a longer poem), though, that I long to read during those melancholy times, before the morning comes. It is the most hauntingly beautiful verse I have ever read. Somehow, the words, though not expressing my sentiments literally, give voice to the troubled feeling inside. And upon reading it, there is something about it that gives me a vicarious release.

The longer poem this excerpt comes from is called "The First Elegy," from a series called The Duino Elegies by 20th-century poet Rainer Maria Rilke. It was originally written in German and has been translated into many renderings, but here is the version I like the best:

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
Oh, to whom can we turn for help?
Not angels, not humans;
and even the knowing animals are aware that we feel
little secure and at home in our interpreted world.
There remains perhaps some tree on a hillside
daily for us to see; yesterday's street remains for us
stayed, moved in with us and showed no signs of leaving.
Oh, and the night, the night, when the wind
full of cosmic space invades our frightened faces.
Whom would it not remain for—that longed-after,
gently disenchanting night, painfully there for the
solitary heart to achieve? Is it easier for lovers?
Don't you know yet? Fling out of your arms the
emptiness into the spaces we breathe—perhaps the birds
will feel the expanded air in their more fervent flight.

Voices, voices. Listen my heart, as only saints
have listened: until the gigantic call lifted them
clear off the ground. Yet they went on, impossibly,
kneeling, completely unawares: so intense was
their listening. Not that you could endure
the voice of God—far from it! But listen
to the voice of the wind and the ceaseless message
that forms itself out of silence. They sweep
toward you now from those who died young.

Spanish word/phrase of the day: la mañana (lah mah-NYAH-nah) = morning (it also means 'tomorrow')

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