Rilke s reflection of interior ripening

> let each impression and each embryo of a feeling come to completion,
> entirely in itself, in the dark, in the unsayable, the unconscious,
> beyond the reach of one’s own understanding, and with deep humility
> and patience to wait for the hour when a new clarity is born: this
> alone is what it means to live as an artist: in understanding as in
> In this there is no measuring with time, a year doesn’t matter,
> and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means: not numbering and
> counting, but ripening like a tree, which doesn’t force its sap, and
> stands confidently in the storms of spring, not afraid that afterward
> summer may not come. It does come. But it comes only to those who are
> patient, who are there as if eternity lay before them, so
> unconcernedly silent and vast. I learn it every day of my life, learn
> it with pain I am grateful for: patience is everything!

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