Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Stoneground under your hands. Even here though,
something can bloom; on a silent cliff-edge an unknowing plant blooms, singing, into the air.
But the one who knows? Ah, he began to know
and is quiet now, exposed on the cliffs of the heart.
While with their full awareness, many sure-footed mountain animals pass or linger. And the great sheltered bird flies, slowly circling, around the peaks pure denial.
But without a shelter, here on the cliffs of the heart...
Rainer Maria Rilke