Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet has advice that is timeless to anyone struggling to find, (and then lose), and find again, his or her voice– or struggling in these troubled times:

...We must accept our reality as vastly as we possibly can; everything, even the unprecedented, must be possible within it. This in the end is the only kind of courage that is required of us: the courage to face the strangest, most unusual, most inexplicable experiences that can meet us.

I didn't know there was a black walnut tree in these woods. I discovered it by stepping on bones and feathers in the mist of leaves and mud below its mantle. Great Horned Owl feathers! Last year at this time– after hearing a pair of these owls bring in the dawn with their mating calls– I found an entire perfect wing. The only predator these owls have are each other. One pair has a mile of territory. If this was a dream, surely it would be about loss and fragility, the season of winter– but also the sense of magic and mystery in the natural world. If I were in a story (which of course I am) I would know that things happen in threes, and this is the third remains of Great Horned Owl I have found.

We do not think ourselves into new ways of living, we live ourselves into new ways of thinking. 

–Richard Rohr

day draw near
another one
do what you can.

–On Angels, Czeslaw Milosz

The title of the painting above– speak to me from everywhere– comes from a Rilke poem. It awakens the part of me, when I listen with my heart, that knows the slender threads. Robert Johnson, (the Jungian writer and storyteller) says the slender threads are always present:

(Slender threads) are the numinous forces that exist outside our conscious control– sometimes called fate, destiny, god, guardian angel, guiding hand or patron saint.

The slender threads are drowned out in the daily doing, but can be felt when we take the time to be with the inner world, the natural world, and stillness. He pointed out long ago (he's about 95!)– that loneliness is often the result of too much doing. When you feel lonely, it is often a sign to take time out and tend to the inner world of dreams, imagination, and listening to the voice of those slender threads.

This morning before dawn, the owl returned. I wrote this haiku:

Morning draws near–

a barn owl calls from the dark 

to one more sunrise.

How many sunrises have you seen? And how many millions have there been? Or billions? All of our ancestors have seen the same sun. 

When you look back on your life and take the time to see what is important to you, are there images, themes, or ideas that recur? 

Last week the subject was staying current with your dreaming self. I enjoyed hearing your responses to the line of poetry that came from my dream: she paid a dear price in lemons once. 

I played with the idea of the price we pay in lemons, in mistakes– and the gifts that come from our errors, from time. There is the possibility of a new perspective– a big view that alters how we see. I think this is what the title means: not to think so much about going somewhere, as becoming, becoming- not reaching to be more like someone else, but more like oneself. You do not go to heaven, you become it.