pilgrimage to pentecost

Pentecost this Sunday, and, as is so often the case, Rilke comes to mind.

All will come into its strength again;
the seas will rage, the field will be undivided,
the trees will tower and the walls will be small,
and in the valleys, nomads and farmers as strong and varied
as the land itself.

No churches to encircle God as though
he were a fugitive, and then bewail him
as if he were a captured, wounded creature.

Houses will welcome all who knock, 

a sense of boundless sacrifice will prevail

in all actions, and in you and me.

No more waiting for the Beyond, no longing for it,
no belittling, even of death,
we shall long for what belongs to us,

learn the earth,
serve its ends,
and feel its hands about us like a friend's.

- from "The Book of Pilgrimage" in Rilke's "Book of Hours"