It’s possible I’m moving through the hard veins
of heavy mountains, like the ore does, alone;
I’m already so deep inside, I see no end in sight,
and no distance: everything is getting near
and everything getting near is turning to stone.

I still can’t see very far yet into suffering,—
so this vast darkness makes me small;
are you the one: make yourself powerful, break in:
so that your whole being may happen to me,
and to you may happen, my whole cry.

— Rilke, The Book of Hours